


Bound

by dummiE3M



Series: Silver Thread [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Feels, Interspecies Relationship(s), Science Fiction & Fantasy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummiE3M/pseuds/dummiE3M
Summary: What if Destiny repeats itself...?For the White Wolf and the Swallow.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Silver Thread [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581460
Comments: 52
Kudos: 158





	1. A Broken Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> Apologize for some scene I've dwelled into witcher's mutation/potions/monsters biology/magic mechanism etc. TOO MUCH.  
> I'm kinda science nerd as much as a fantasy fan, I LOVE to theorizes something that the author doesn't bother to.  
> ...  
> SUE ME.

**Bound.**

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**A Broken Swallow.**

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“ _Find…Geralt of Ri-Rivia_ ” Her grandmother croaked out with dying breaths, that's the last lesson she said, he’s your destiny she said.

Cirilla recalled the face and strands of white locks stares at her when she plays knuckleheads with the boys, a stranger she has never seen before yet felt so familiar at the same time.

She doesn’t know shit about a Geralt of Rivia, no one ever tells her about him her whole life and somehow, during the sacking of her home her grandmother sent her off to find him.

“ _He is your destiny._ ”

Seriously? She does not have even the slightest idea of what her grandmother’s words meant to her. She heard gossips and whispers among the court about Law of Surprise since she was six but not once have anyone ever mentioned a man that is Geralt of Rivia.

Who is he, a knight? If that is the case, she would have seen him at the court at least once. He might be a noble, though, leading her grandmother to entrust her safety to him like this.

Mousesack has never provided any detail either and with the mage disappearance, she might never get one. Ciri is on the run for days now and with the depleting amount of food she has left, she might not survive very long to do anything.

She cut through the woods, avoiding main pathways as much as possible, pure instinct and her grandparents’ teaching are bleeding dry to keep herself alive as long as she could.

Take shelter whenever she could, conserve her energy and body heat as much as possible, her beautifully decorated dirk was used and abused to its full extent on rats and if she were lucky enough; a rabbit.

Starting a fire was a pain in the ass, she learned that a hard way by nearly frozen to death from torturous breeze some nights ago. The sun is still hanging at the horizon as she finds a suitable shallow cavern, after gathered twigs and dry sticks she uses almost an hour to get a spark going, several tries to finally get a fire, Ciri re-roasted a half-eaten hare.

Nighttime is the worst, images of murders and horrendous acts flashing now and again as they have embedded themselves on her mind since she has stepped out of the palace during the invading.

But the most dread has to be the sight of her dying grandmother, to witnessed such hopelessness and fragility from one as strong as the Lioness of Cintra herself leave marks on her, Calanthe was the only one she has left.

Ciri jolts several times during the night, sometimes she heard growls and snarls distantly and have to keep fueling her bonfire to ward off wild animals.

…

Geralt had been tracking Cirilla for almost four days now, about a day behind the princess as he estimated from evident throughout the path she had taken.

What concerns him the most would be others track that followed her direction since the city’s gate and still kept on the chasing as if a predator has hunting its prey.

Now he set up a cot of ragged mattress he kept on Roach, start a fire and devoured a portion of food he has left, brewing his potions and sharpening his blades excessively.

Renfri’s brooch gleaming in the amber hue of the bonfire, though it has been decades since he took it and a memory of her with him, it still stung like a pitchfork through his chest if he took more than a passing glance.

His brain still recalls all the feelings;  
Sense of calm and desire when her fingers raked through his hair or clawed his back.  
How her soft lips nibbling and sucking each scar on his chest.

How her skin tastes on his tongue, the sounds of her moans and mewling when he kneads her breast or take her earlobe between his teeth.

How captivating the way light plays on her body.

How their breaths intertwined before their bodies melted together.

It’s a shame that in the end she still chose what she chose, the warmth of her blood still haunts him in his sleep from time to time.

Like this time, after he falls asleep he sees her in the corner of his eyes, walking slowly towards him in the same outfit in which he killed her with her dagger, she stood over his head and slowly slide down till she sits with each of her legs at the sides of his head.

Renfri gives him a sad smile similar to the ones he saw that night when she climbed on his lap and trace her fingers on his temple just like she told him how her mother used to do.

‘ _Anytime I was so scared to close my eyes she would do this and sing me a silly song about a mother goose and her younglings made their way through a muddy swamp…_ ’ _She whispers as if talking to herself, and sighs softly as she felt the witcher’s hot breathes grazes her neck and his nose nudging her jaw_.

In his dream, Geralt look up to her and felt her fingers making the same pattern on his forehead tentatively, a moment passed and warm liquid trail down his face and the source came from Renfri’s slashed carotid aorta.

The Witcher wants to escape the gushing blood but he found himself paralyzed in place “The girl in the woods will be with you always.” Renfri spoke to him and Geralt found blood has poured directly on his nostrils, suffocating him little by little.

As Geralt felt blood slowly filling his lungs and on the verge of death, the sound of the explosion wakes him out of the trance.

Geralt shot up with rapid and jagged breaths, sweats adorned his whole body as he struggling to realize he can breathe and his lungs were not flooded by Renfri’s blood.

Turn his head toward the direction the sound came from, brief flashes of fire light up the sky and the sound follow suit.

“Must be Sodden Hill.” Geralt grumbles silently to himself, he heard rumors that mages gathered there to fight off the invading force of Nilfgaard.

The faded memory of Yennefer of Vengerberg cross his mind, sure after he wished for the Djinn to spare her life she gave him a good fuck for a week or so but eventually, they went their separate ways.

Although they still cross paths from time to time, if he ever had any hope of her affection he surely shattered it when he criticized her at the dragon hunting. Sometimes people hate the hard truth, doubly so for sorcerers and sorceresses, he thought to himself.

Geralt gathers his recent nightmare, anything spoken by the apparition of Renfri still groggy.

Roach whines occasionally and he caught a distinct set of footsteps making way toward his direction, Geralt abruptly get up and kicks dirt to kill the fire, packing all of his things back onto Roach then climb up on the tree and hiding in the thick shadow of leaves.

Not half an hour passed, three figures in black armor emerges in his eyesight.

“We must rest, Rodgerik, you led us through this wood since morn!” the one on the left whines about at the center man.

“The General order was clear; no stop until we find her. Or you might want to face the wrath of him?” Rodgerik hisses back.

“He’s just a boy though, how old now? 19? 20? You’re gonna let a boy herd you to death?” the one on the right chimed in.

“A 20 years old boy who ascends the rank of general on his own? Better believe me he will hold his words, Daneek.” Rodgerik replied.

“He just a noble boy from an old family, nothing special about him.” The left one blurts out.

“Oi, Look there! A horse!” Daneek pointed his finger directly at Roach and the three approach the mare.

From his position Geralt slowly and silently assess the situation; they are Nilfgaardian scouts for sure and they are after Cirilla, made promising progress so far for they catching with him despite unusual path Cirilla has led him through this part of the snowy woods.

His steel clutch in his left hand; Geralt preferring his right hand for casting signs for they came out more effective than when he uses the left hand, simulate his mind and deduce that the last target would be the nameless whiny one who currently peeing directly under him.

Geralt concentrate and shoot Aard at Daneek, the Nilfgaardian got hit like a raging bull rams into him.

Without given the other two times to react, Geralt launch himself toward Rodgerik with his sword in a reverse-grip and align with his forearm, at the moment the tip of his sword pierce through the witcher maneuvered his grips to drive it in deeper, then twisting forcefully to dislodge the blade and also crushes any organs he punctured.

As Daneek struggles to pull himself up from the ground, Geralt somersaulting towards the nilfgaardian and launch a spin kick from his kneeling position and landed hard onto Daneek’s _Adam’s apple_ resulted in the poor guy clutching his neck due to his crushed _Larynx_ and gurgling blood.

Geralt wastes no time as he twisted his hip and with deadly precision, beheaded the nilfgaardian cleanly with a single arc of his sword.

The third barely have time to acknowledge the situation before two of his fellow soldiers drop dead on the ground, fumbling to draw his sword from the hip.

He took too much time because as he gets the sword halfway out, a whooshing sound of metal cut through the air reaches his ears and the sensation of cold steel struck into his pectoral, lodged deep inside.

Geralt slowly approaches the still-shocked soldier who has his witcher’s sword stuck out of his chest.

“How many of you looking for her?” the witcher grab the hilt of his sword and softly twisting it, earn a sharp cry of pain.

“Fuck you, _vatt’ghern!_ ” the dying man spit at the witcher whose eyes glow faintly under the moonlight.

“Hmm.” Geralt grunts firmly and quickly dislodging his blade then swiped the man’s head off his shoulder.

Geralt takes time to clean his blade and confiscates useful stuff from the three’s corpses.

He then took Roach and continue walking along the path with Cirilla’s trails.

…

Cirilla finds herself surrounded by a group of familiar faces, the boys she used to play with and some men she has never seen before.

“Looky here, someone is lost.” One of the men speaks and leering her from head to toe.

“That’s princess Cirilla.” One of her ‘friends’ pointed out and the others snap their eyes to look at her.

Then she sees the other men sneering at her from all the angles, Ciri felt overwhelmed with dreads and disgusts.

“What should we do with her? I mean, she’s the reason why they attacked Cintra and killed all the good people there, right?” the man at her backside grabs her left wrist in a vise-grip, Ciri yelp in pain as he also applies pressure and bending it to prevent her from escaping him.

“Aye, I heard they say as much.” The other man approaches and tries to capture her jaw in his hand, Ciri thrashes and whines as much as she could, which resulting in her cheek burns painfully from the slap.

One of the boys, Mikail, grabs her cloak and yanks it so hard it tore off. Cirilla protests again and receives another slap.

“I always wonder, how would it feel like to fuck a princess.” Mikail leered at her and inhaling the air near her exposed neck.

“We can take a turn, boy, I’m sure this bitch was plenty enough for all of us.” The disgusting man at her side said darkly while ran his fingers down her throat.

Ciri starts to panic, she screams and curses while her cloak has been torn from her form, her fears risen with each gropes she received and all she wants now is for them to get off of her, she wishes she wasn’t powerless like this.

“What?!” one of them nearly shout as suddenly they have been shoved off the girl’s body by an invisible force.

If some of them have heard it before, no one says anything. Ithlinne’s prophecy has been chants from the girl’s mouth with an ethereal voice.

Then…

The piercing screams tore the silence of the night.

…

Geralt felt his medallion vibrates forcefully long before the screeching screams reached his ears.

Roach snorts loudly and nearly topples him over its back, luckily Geralt spent times with his current Roach long enough to be able to calm her down without the aid of Axii.

“Steady, Roach!” Geralt grunts sharply.

Roach slowly regain her posture and whines softly, Geralt patted her mane for good measure.

“Sounds like it came from that way…” Geralt gazes off toward the south “Come on, Roach.” He tugs the reins and spurs the mare forward, following the estimated direction given by the sounds.

…

“Cirilla? Wake up!” a gravel voice calling her as she is still groggy and couldn’t make a clear vision of her surroundings.

Ciri felt a set of strong hands cup her face and turning it gently side to side, the callouses nubs sent a strange sensations through her skin wherever said hands traveled. Strong scents of something earthly and metallic laces with the air she breathes in.

Ciri try to blink open her eyes but the exhaustions took a heavy toll on her more than she realized, but her grandmother never taught her to back down from anything, eventually, she could pry open her eyes but the sights are like looking through murky water.

“Cirilla? Can you hear me?” the voice in front of her asks, his deep baritone vibrates and laced with such concerns she could feel it warms her inside against the chilling breeze that biting her skins.

“Mmm…” Ciri manages to croak out, sounding meek and weak in her ears.

She heard the man in front of her sighs with relief at her response, his hot breath wash over her face, indicate how close they are.

She can make out a few things though; an eerily silences of the night and a pair of glowing ambers that look at her with worries.

A strand of her hair has been swept by his calloused fingers with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“Who…are you?” Ciri whispers to him, she didn’t expect him to hear but it surprised her when he responds.

“Geralt.” The man in front of her says.

Ciri’s eyes widen with shock, she has imagined what Geralt of Rivia would look like, but all of that does not even come close to the actual person now looking down at her and stroking her sore cheeks soothingly; she never thought of him to have towering physique than most knights in the court, or he to have milky-white hairs gathered into a bun, or he to have a handsome face that sharpened by various scars both big and small, or he to have a set of golden glow-in-the-dark eyes of Witchers.

Without more words spoken between them, Geralt swoop Ciri into his arms and taking her to Roach, tattered cloak that clings to her has been torn off completely, various tears and worn spots on her doublet indicate a too familiar sight for him; the victim of attempted rape.

But the scene he rode on both terrified and intrigued him to a certain amount; the radius of her ‘burst’ was significantly larger than that of her mother back at the banquet, more powerful too from states of corpses that blown to pieces and struck into trunks scattered around.

At least he knows from his enhanced senses that none of them succeed at what they want with her.

“I never know you are…a witcher.” Ciri speaks softly as he settled himself on the saddle behind her, holding her between his strong arms.

“No surprise, Calanthe simply doesn’t want me near you.” Geralt states a matter of fact.

“Where were you all this time?” Ciri asks out of curiosity.

“Cintra, in the gatekeep.” Geralt answered with his usual deep monotone, eyes roaming the surrounding darkness for any potential threats.

“Did you see her?” Ciri turns her head to look at him while asking the question, the hopefulness she harbors inside her at the thought about her grandmother makes the light plays on her emerald orbs mesmerizingly.

Although common folks believe that witchers are incapable of emotions, he and his brethren can express emotions normally as anyone else, just that their survival both in the faces of monsters and humans requires no such thing, to the point that sometimes they slowly forget how to comprehend the very concept at all.

Now he knows that if he doesn’t want the girl in front of him to fall apart the best he could do is lie to her for the fear that he would be the one to stomp the sparks of hope that keeps her sanity intact.

“Just so you know, I can take the truth.” Ciri interrupted him as soon as he opens his mouth.

Geralt falters a little at the princess’s bluntness. He searches her face but only sees a determination rarely seen inside one at her age, ‘ _seems Calanthe rubbed off a lot on her_ ’, Geralt muses.

“Fine…” He exhales and readjusts their position as he quickening the pace, the nearest town would require that they ride all night anyway, and after he feels like she is ready then he continued “She’s dead… jumped from her chamber.” He relayed the information to her, gazing to gauge Cirilla’s reaction but the way she turns her hopeful eyes away from him forms a lump in his throat.

Geralt contemplating what to say when he heard her silent sobs, her body shaking slightly as her hands gripping Roach’s mane tightly, the mare whine a little.

Cirilla couldn’t hold it in for much longer, all this time she always clings to the hope that despite all odds her grandmother would somehow survive. Cirilla always admired her grandmother’s tales of bravery and victory in many battles, she always seems so strong and be her only anchor through harsh times.

Geralt was not one for giving another comfort, hell, even as he was five, the best he got from Vesemir was a pat on his head after the gnarly fall from the pendulum. So, he imitates that and laid his left hand on Ciri’s head.

Ciri was pulled out of her misery as soon as she felt the weight of his hand on the top of her head.

She chances a glance at his face under the dim moonlight and sees a strange combination of a caring man on the façade of the cold-hearted killer as people always claimed them to be.

Ciri let him rest his hand there for a while and then turns her gaze back down to his horse again. They keep on the same pace for about an hour until she no longer has any tears to shreds, it was then Ciri catches a silent hum coming from the witcher.

She strained her ears and listen closely; it resembles a lullaby her mother used to lull her since she could form a single sentence, a song of a silly goose and her gooselings making their way through a muddy swamp.

Ciri let herself relaxing into the deep hum of him and the warmth emanated from his towering figure enveloped her protectively against the cold night, and fall asleep with her head rest comfortably on the witcher’s broad chest.


	2. Blossom Rowan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is in need of medical treatment, Geralt goes off to find her one.  
> Redhead, young, lovely and bright one.

**Bound.**

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**Blossom Rowan.**

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The eerie morning grace the town of Honsmurt, the populaces are still mostly sleeping and some that just finished their drinks stumbling along the muddy street.

Peasants tend to their cattle and domestics since the break of the roosters’ crowing, beggars and thieves start their workday shortly after.

Many that on the side of the main road turn their heads slowly toward the newcomers, it’s not their arrival at the break of dawn that causes the commotion, it simply that the duo gave off a strange combination; one towering scary-looking witcher with dirtied snow-white hair, clad in a simple black shirt and a sleeping young girl with strikingly fair-color hair, who curled up into the witcher.

Some chances a glance or glaring hatefully at the witcher who control his mare to a steady pace, many landed on the snoring girl said witcher held protectively.

Some averted their eyes when they catch a returning glare from the witcher and returns to their chores, but many are still tracing their eyes following the direction that the pair headed to; the local tavern.

Geralt’s enhanced senses picked many conversations up from the vicinity; many based on the arrival of him and Ciri but fortunately no one suspicious about the identity of the girl, just that some comments irritate him and some even made him snarls invert.

As he neared the tavern, Geralt catches a glimpse of some strumpet adorned the other side of the street, some even waving at him. The witcher directed Roach to the vacant spot in the stable.

Geralt shaking Cirilla softly to awaken her, the girl mumbles something meaningless under her breath “Cirilla, wake up.” He continued the prodding lightly on the side of her ribcage, which Ciri jolts up winching in pain and nearly fell from her position if not for the witcher’s inhuman reflexes.

Geralt widens his eyes at the reaction, he wants to hit himself in his stupid head as of then and there; she might’ve survived the attempted rape but surely some of them might leave marks and bruises on her.

Ciri still has a pained expression shows on her face, with staggered breathings. Geralt grunt a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath and move in to help her ease the pain with a simple technique Vesemir had taught him back when he nearly passed out from his dislocated shoulder.

“Breath, in and out, slowly.” He instructs the girl firmly while hovering his hands over her, ready to stabilize if the need arrives.

Ciri glare at him for a moment and following his words, she slowly taking a breath and then let it out, but they were done in such a way that the pain is still throbbing like a mad rat clawing at the bruise.

“Through your nose, Deeper, take time to inhale and let it settle in your lungs a little.” He informs her, Ciri obeyed.

“Now exhale it through your mouth, quickly.” Ciri follows the instruction and to her surprise, the pain subsided by the tiny amount.

“Repeat the process again and again until the throbbing is gone.” Geralt said and look at her with some relief washed over him.

Ciri nods a little and obliges his advice; she starts to feel the result after several tries and slowly turn her face to look at him, a tight smile plays on her lips.

“It’s those bastards… they tried to… to…” Ciri stuttering when she tries to tell the witcher how closes she was to experience something horrendous.

“I know, but they didn’t. That’s all that matters.” Geralt shut her down with a simple pat on her back with his somewhat strained-comforting tug of the corner of his lips that somehow make Ciri’s tight smile soften.

Ciri averted her gaze from the witcher and take in her surroundings; some peoples leaving the doors of their homes, cats and dogs chasing wildly around, many wasted drunkards stumbles left and right and some even toppled-over roots and fences.

Horses whine softly around her, the stable condition leaves some questions hanging in the air but considering that all the stable she ever saw were of the royal possession.

The tavern though was in a surprisingly good condition; green walls mixed with wines and molds, half bricks and logs with two story-height that harbored many rooms from what she can see by the number of windows.

‘The Griffin’s Tail’ is the name she read out from the hanging plaque with, what she assumes to be, a taxidermy monster’s feathery tail.

“Come on, I need a break and you need a bath. I will go see if there’s any doctor in town, those bruises need tending.” Geralt said to her as if he catches curiosity coming off her like some odor.

The witcher dismount from his position that he was in all night, groaning muscles and aching joints protests fiercely and popped sounds emanated from his body, a groan escaped his lips that make Ciri giggles.

“Do you need a hand getting down from Roach?” Geralt playfully offers his hand toward her.

“That would be marvelous…” Ciri feigns a manner of a noble lady for a brief moment but then she dismounting herself with practiced grace and posture resemble boys than princesses, and landed on the spot beside him “and unnecessary, sir witcher” Ciri quips at him, lifting her chin and almost puff her chest.

The height differences are prominent when they stood on the same level, Ciri always proud of her above average height but it was nothing compared to that of Geralt; her head leveled only to his armpit, that if she tiptoed a bit.

The witcher led his mare toward the posts and tied its rein to them, patted her mane softly and mumble something as if talking to it, Ciri quirk her brows at the interaction but says nothing.

Geralt turned back only to sees a girl in front of him quirking eyebrows at him, he returned the same expression.

“You talk to a horse?” Ciri casually asks with a tiny smile tugging her lips.

“Roach.” Geralt replied.

“Huh?” Ciri dumbfounds.

“Her name’s Roach.” Geralt clarified for the girl.

“Okay…?” Ciri struggling to form sentences and trails off for a moment, then asks again “You talk to Roach that often?”

Geralt just shrugs his shoulders and pursed his lips a little, then going to gathers all his valuables off the mare’s saddle.

Ciri approaches him and gave a signal that she wants to help. Geralt looks down at her and snort an amusing sound from his throat; it always affects her as to how deep his voices go.

“If you insist.” Geralt said and handed her a bag of his swords.

Ciri beam up at him a little and took the bag from him, she underestimated the weight of the package from the way the witcher held them; it feels like she gives another one of herself a piggyback, groaning as the weight settled on her.

“Come on.” Geralt muses with his smug face, and prod her in the back with a firm and gentle touch.

…

“60 ducats.” The owner said to him after he used a little bit more time to ensure that they will take only one room, for a night.

“You sure about that?” Geralt haggles with his stoic face and intimidation posture, Ciri looks up at him with confusion as he looks so different than the one she spends times with since last night.

“Aye, and if you need a bath too…” the owner quirk an eyebrow at the witcher along with him scrunch up his nose “total sum would be 80 ducats.” The owner finished and crossed his arms over his chest, signaling that the negotiation is over.

Geralt snatch his pouch off from the hip, open it to count and nearly curse when he meets with a pathetic amount of almost 40 ducats.

That’s when he heard the familiar melody plays.

 _“…Toss a coin to your witcher, O’valley of plenty, O’valley of plenty, oh, oh, oH!_ ” Jaskier’s beautiful yet inaccurate song about their mutual event in the past played skillfully as always by the very same lute he has first composed it after Filavandrel let them go.

Geralt doesn’t know how to react to the turn of the event; he feels joy at the presence of his friend and also an annoyance laced within every time he crosses with the bard’s path.

“What about just a bath?” Geralt asks another time as he already knows how he would solve this problem.

“20.” The owner replied with confusion on his face.

“Deal, bring the bathtub and everything to the room that master Jaskier booked.” The witcher command rapidly, quirking his brow at the owner questioningly.

“What now?” the owner questioned.

“Who is Jaskier?” Ciri also out of patience.

“Oi! Geralt! What a lovely surprise!” Jaskier sees the familiar white-locks clad in a black shirt and paused his performance immediately. Making the clients turns their heads toward the direction of the witcher.

Geralt grunt ‘fuck’ under his breath, this is one of many things the minstrel always brought to him every time they met each other; attention when he doesn’t need it.

“What are you doing here, my friend?” Jaskier tiptoeing towards the witcher, while still playing the melodic tune that some of the audiences provided the singing.

“Just passing by.” Geralt replied and gave his friend a brief hug.

“Master Jaskier, this witcher tells me he will be staying in your room for tonight, I tried to-” the owner said but Jaskier interrupted him by a simple wiggle of his finger.

“See to it, then. The witcher is my friend…and who are you?” Jaskier finally sees the companion of his friend, tattered and dirtied outfit is not what nagging his curiosity, nor the fact that she is a girl of maybe 13 or 14; it’s the color of her eyes and her unnatural ashen hair.

“You are--” Geralt’s foot stomp firmly on the bard’s, earning a yelp and when Jaskier looks at the witcher he sees the meaning his old friend tries to convey; keep silence.

“Fiona, I’m traveling with Geralt.” Ciri feign the sincere smile she recently mastered to the use around courtiers and such, apparently, everyday life could benefit from that too. Especially of the runaway princess like her.

“Oh, right. Nice to meet you, lady Fiona.” Jaskier wrapped the curiosity and stashed it for the time being and accept the obvious lie told by the _maybe-princess of Cintra_. Jaskier brushed off any suspicious anyone in the tavern might have by greeting her with a manner he always uses as a façade; that of a playful and dimwit bard whose travels town to town.

Ciri even giggles a little at the way the bard playfully placed her knuckles over his lips briefly.

Geralt witnessed the interactions with interest; ‘ _at least Cirilla can take care of herself_ ’, he thought.

“Room 3, my friend. Here’s the key.” Jaskier offers them a key to his room, but Geralt dismissed it by directing Jaskier’s outstretched hand toward Ciri.

“I have some business to do in town, You and Fiona don’t mind moving the luggage?” Geralt asks them with his usual smug at the rolling eyes of Jaskier and also Ciri.

“I do mind, actually. But whatever, shall we?” Jaskier whined about and directing his last sentence towards the ashen hair girl.

Ciri alternating her gaze between the two and settles onto Geralt. Burning a hole into him by the intensity of her questioning glare.

“You can trust him.” is all Geralt said. And Ciri has no chance to even protest as the witcher quickly snatch his steel sword from the bag, then he left the tavern.

“Come now, milady, I know it’s not assuring to be left alone with me. But as Geralt already said, you can trust me.” The bard gives her an assuring and encouraging smile, then nudging his head towards the stairs, leading her up to his room with everything Geralt left for them to carry.

Ciri contemplates everything, she would not easily trust someone again after what she encountered in the past few days. But if Geralt was comfortable enough to leave her with the bard after she sensed and saw how the idea of anyone forcing themselves on her makes him feels so disgusted and angry, she might take his word for it.

Ciri followed the bard onto the stairs and entered the room number 3, the interior is not so spacious but not so cramped-up either. Decent-looking bed set at the far side underneath fixed glass-window, plushy pillows and mattress disheveled beyond what her nanny would approve.

“Welcome to my current humble place! You can have the bed for tonight, Geralt and I will do just fine on the floor, or knowing Geralt, he might not sleep anywhere at all.” Jaskier spreads his arms widely while spinning in his place as if presenting the royal suite to the king.

Ciri feels strangely at ease within the bard’s presence, not as strong as she felt with the witcher but considerably much more than she should with someone she had never met.

She placed the witcher’s weapon bag alongside the hearth and sitting down on the stool nearby, Jaskier busied himself with rearranging furniture and setting Geralt’s stuff down on appropriate places. Not long after, the knocks on the door came with faint aromatic smells.

“Hot bath for room 3! Open up!” the voices from the door informs them, Jaskier set down the current item he unpacks and makes his way to the door.

“Thank you so much, gents! Now set them behind screens.” Jaskier directed them and when they entered the room with bathing equipment, their gazes turned to confusion and bewilderment as soon as they saw her.

“That’s my little sis, she came here from…Temeria, long ride, you know?” Jaskier's fluent lies impressed her, and the two men dropped their curiosity to go on with their task. Setting up the bathing area.

When they finished and left the room, Jaskier let out a long sigh, swiping his sweats from his forehead.

“Little sis?” Ciri finally asks.

“Well, can’t have them thinking I am THAT kind of person now, can I? still have reputations to uphold.” Jaskier responds with a big grin on his face and continues to unpacking that he discarded earlier.

“Take your time, Fiona, but after I left this room, don’t want anyone barge in when you take a bath.” Jaskier said nonchalantly.

“That would be best.” Ciri mumbles under her breath and walking toward the bard to help him.

They settled into the comfortable silence when they are so busy with what they do until Jaskier's patience shattered after his curiosity nagging at them too much, he asks, politely and casually “Did they succeed?”

Ciri stiffened abruptly and turned her gaze towards the cross-guard of Geralt’s silver sword for a while.

“I just picked it up from the state your clothes are in, the way you flinch a little when that man passing you by downstairs and the way Geralt acted around you.” Ciri turns her gaze to him, confused.

“I traveled with him for a long time, long enough to recognized some signs and the way people respond to certain traumatic pasts, and that witcher always overprotective around girls that, pardon my bluntness, experiencing a rape attempt.” The usual playful and coyness she seems to accounted with him dissipate for a moment, showing her the true personality of him; highly-educated, world-worn and wise beyond someone his age.

Ciri breath in deeply and exhaled before turning herself fully to him, looking him up in the eyes and controlling her posture the way her grandmother instilled into her, a little shaken voice said with sincerity “No, they died before anyone of them can.” Ciri relayed to him with all the emotions she bottled up since the event.

Jaskier studied her for a moment; proud, courageous and fierce just like he saw in her mother that day Geralt firstly claimed her unknowingly. The bard simply nodded his head in acknowledgment.

“I see now that your grandmother taught you well, princess Cirilla.” At the mention of her real name, Jaskier sees her posture stiffen up again so he quickly added as a clarification “I was there when Geralt invoked the Law of Surprise to your father. So, yes, I know who you are and no, you don’t need to be scared of me, I’m just a minstrel who follows a brooding witcher around The Continent to annoyed him and also make profits from his heroic tales. Your secrets are safe.” Jaskier finished with a wink and sincere assuring smile, Ciri visibly relaxed after that.

“What was it like? When Geralt invoked the Law of Surprise?” Ciri asks after they finished arranging the witcher’s belongings.

“Oh, it’s marvelous! You should see Geralt’s face when he knew what he’s getting himself into! One of a kind indeed, gave me healthy laughs for days!” The bard exclaimed cheerily, falling back into his usual façade.

They talked excessively about Geralt for almost an hour until Jaskier excuses himself to do performance and tell her to lock the door. Ciri quickly undressed and climbed into the bathtub, let the warmth and aromatic scents enveloped her sore and aching body, lightly applies soap on her dirtied skins but carefully gentle around scratches and bruises that scattered across her whole being.

She silently cried into the warm water as she intentionally replayed memories in her head.

…

“Fuck!” Geralt grunt loudly as he sidestepping out of the fiend’s reach.

The doctor he found was a bit of a prick, the damn whoreson demands many organs from a certain fiend that prowled the nearby forest for payment, and here he is, trying his damn-est to put the towering monster down without risking his limbs; even with his full-armor clad Geralt still have some trouble fighting a fiend and without the ingestion of certain potions as he is now? Any witcher would be torn to pieces.

Luckily, He is not any witcher.

Geralt accurately shoot the valley of liquid-fire from his bending fingers at the beast as soon as the fiend charges and missed him a fraction of a hair, the beast roars angrily and painfully as its hide singed from the magical fire of IGNI; his conduit prowess is one of few things he is grateful that he inherited from his mother, it makes his mutation goes smoother than the rest of his group and also allows him to absorbs and conjures chaos better than most, his signs are effective than any witchers could ever cast.

Another regret is that he did not bring his silver with him, steel could do the deed, true, but it will take much more time and efforts without the toxic property of silver against such type of monsters.

The Fiend charges at him again after it extinguished the fire by thrashing wildly on the ground, this time Geralt uses the knowledge he possesses to the full extent; reversing his grip and starts charging the beast too.

Fiend acts exactly like a charging bull; they will jump over any obstacles laid in their path. Geralt timed his slide perfectly and the fiend automatically hopped over the witcher out of instinct, Geralt uses his left hand to push himself upward then with practiced grace, he’s spinning half-round backward to his right with his sword shifted to their usual grip and violently slashed at the beast’s left hindleg. Severed the femoral artery and the tendons in the arc of his blade.

The fiend gave off pained growls and staggered itself to a stop when the damage starts to take effect, Geralt successfully lamed it and give himself a chance to catch his breath.

“Looks like I have to pull a Lambert here.” Geralt grumbles to himself as he readjusts his breathing, without certain potion the witcher’s muscles rapidly worn down by Lactic Acid secrets into them due to his biology.

Geralt bit off the pain that throbbed his screeching muscles, readying himself for another overuse of them when the fiend charging at him again, this time visibly slower.

_Once, he oversaw Lambert on a contract; the young prick seems to be the cockiest of them all but when it comes to hunting monsters, the kid is remarkable. Geralt saw that the younger witcher uses the same tactic Vesemir taught them, but instead of satisfied with severed artery and tendons Lambert raised the bar by jumped onto the back of that fiend and severed its spinal cord then finished the job by puncturing the beast’s heart._

Geralt reenacted the moves of his younger brethren step-by-step, although his body protests painfully by secreting more and more Lactic Acid into his muscles, Geralt pushed through and completed the task by the same way Lambert did.

The Beast gave off its last howling and then falls to the ground, Geralt laid there on top of the carcass to regain his strength and let his unnatural biology to dissipate any remnants of fatigue out of his aching muscles.

After a while, he heaps himself up to a kneeling position and exhales loudly, when he felt like his heartbeat slowed down to its usual quarter of a man pace he rises and yanked the steel out. Slashing it with one hand to an empty space as a mean to get rid of blood and other bodily fluids then rubbing it with furs of the fiend for good measure.

Geralt jumped down from the carcass to the side and contemplate a plan to gut the beast and get to his end of the bargain.

“Looks like it weight around… a ton or two.” Geralt, despite the look and the profession he lived in, was educated enough to formulate simple math and many others from decades of acquaintances he made. The witcher looks around and saw a thick lone oak not far from him.

He whistled for Roach, the mare appeared from thick bushes and making its way toward him.

“Good thing I keep this rope on you, huh?” Geralt muses to his mare and it snorted back at him in response.

Geralt also grab the silver-alloy hook he uses as a mounting for some trophy off the side of the saddle, combined the two items with a tight and secure knot.

Geralt walk to the opposite side of the oak and hooked his equipment deep into the sternum of a dead fiend, locking it in place.

He then winding the end of the rope around the thickest part of the oak, pulling with all of his strength aided by simple physic, as someone used to tell him decades ago.

The carcass slowly turning sideways from the effort of the witcher, Geralt keeps pulling and tying the pulled length to the other sturdy trunk found.

…

“Here, your guts.” Geralt said stoically to the doctor, the man looking up from his notes with intrigues laces within his casual expression.

“Well done, witcher.” The doctor stands up and inspecting the content of the fiend’s inert with careful eyes, then turns toward the other part of the study and calls “Shani! Come here and help me with this!”

Geralt fidgeting with himself, trying to pull out any dirt or other disgusting pieces off his damp and disheveled hair when he saw her.

Red hair, soft skins of a teenager are adorned with freckles, green eyes with the determination and look of a scholar, a silver _Caduceus_ hanged around her supple neck.

He noted to himself that he gathered too many details and averts his eyes towards some bottles and jars that decorated the study.

“This witcher provided us a fine specimen to research, take them to the cellar and stuff them properly then come back here with your satchel.” The doctor ordered his charge and she disappeared with the bag around the corner.

Geralt turns his gaze back to the doctor, crossing his arms and asks “So, about our deal?”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten, master witcher. Let me grab something first then I will send Shani to see the patient you mentioned.” Doctor assured him and went inside the inner room to do as he said.

“I thought you are the doctor.” Geralt grunts out irritatingly, pinch the bridge of his nose.

“The only one in town, people will flood this place as soon as I open the shop in a few minutes, which is why…” the doctor paused and sound of ruffles erupt, then he resumes “…I cannot go to see your ‘wounded’. So, I propose the next best physician you can find around here, my apprentice.”

“How good is she?” Geralt said out with his mood starts to brood a bit, but his neck nearly snaps from turning so fast at the responder who is not the doctor he directed his question at.

“I lack only money to open my own shop, witcher, and in a few months I will be the first to graduate from Oxenfurt Academy at the age of 17.” Shani approaches him from behind, notices that the witcher’s eyes never left her for even a fraction of seconds, and stood proudly with her shin jotted up high at him “That’s good enough for you?” she quirks her brow at him, her expression full of challenges.

The witcher said nothing but a simple ‘hmm’ and nodding to her apologetically with a tiny bit playful mannerism in which the apprentice caught on but let it slide.

…

Ciri doesn’t know where to get one.

After she takes the longest bath in her life which resulted in herself covered in pruned-skins, the girl is at a loss as to what she would be wearing because, gods forbid, she never thought about it before washed her clothes, which now are soaking wet.

She goes for the most logical thing; dress in some of Geralt’s spare clothes, she silently prays that he would have more than one spare.

“Come on, why did you stash them so deeply?” she grunts to herself as she rummaging through the witcher’s belongings.

“Aha! Got it.” Ciri exclaimed satisfied as she pulled out one of his gray, thanks to his physique she can just stay in this thing without the need of any pants.

She finished dress up as the door has been knocked.

“It’s me.” Gravel and deep baritone of him soothed her a bit, Ciri buttoned up the last one and approaches the door.

She has been greeted by his-surprisingly and strangely-familiar face and a cute redhead who tugging at her satchel nervously.

Geralt sees his spare shirt draped over Ciri’s form and quirks his brow at the sight, eventually, he reminds himself of the priority and introduces Shani.

Ciri acknowledges the purpose of the cute one that Geralt brings with him and let the two get inside. It was then that she caught a patch of dried blood at his left side, under the ribcage.

“Geralt, you are bleeding!” Ciri said with worried tone but the witcher simply waves her off dismissively.

“Just a shallow wound, give it an hour and it will be alright. My mutation will take care of it.” He reassured her when she is still got concerns played across her face.

“So, she is the one I’m here for?” Shani interjected as she sensed some tension hanging in the air.

Geralt only give a ‘hmm’ as a form of affirmation and proceed to place his sword at the spot Ciri previously settled the bag, unlacing his shirt off to reveal a canvas of his skin that painted heavily with various scars of sizes imaginable.

Geralt flexes every fiber that sculpted by fights after fights, monsters after monsters, every hardship he endured and survived for decades of his life on the Path. The patch of dried blood covered a mostly closed puncture wound, courtesy of the fiend he took down this morning.

Shani marveled at all of them, for someone pursues such a profession and despite her years of experience as a physician, she had never seen so much on one body. Some of them even crossed the old ones in places, maybe she can blame it on her hormonal changes that she feels like trailing each of them with her fingers and lips.

Although, for Ciri they seem enticing in a way that a storyteller would pick each of them and recites the event interestingly to some children around a campfire. She feels like asking him about all of them later, might be the best way to get to know him better.

Geralt turns his eyes back at the two girls behind him, noting that both of them have slight blushes across there noses. It stirs something inside him at the way Shani eyed him but he dismissed it as a pure curiosity at the sight of his scarred body, she’s a doctor-in-practice after all.

“I will give you some space to work, there are some herbs in that bag.” Geralt quickly grab his other spare clothes and disappeared into the partition that has a hot bath waiting.

…

He wakes in the bath when he felt someone grip his aching shoulders firmly.

After his consciousness took its time to adjust, he felt those hands start to massaging him tentatively and expertly, Geralt moans softly as his knots has been relieved.

“Hmm, didn’t know you usually give your client a massage too.” Geralt hums softly at the way the redhead traces her hands down his sternum. The medic hums seducing in a way that indicates her inexperience to him, which makes Geralt grabs her hands to a stop.

The witcher fully turns himself back to look at her; the medic shredded her outer vest and now clad in only her white blouse with her pants discarded at the floor at the entrance.

“Don’t say anything, it’s just that…I’d like to try many things, as much as possible anyway, before I graduate and the duty would take all my time.” Shani slid her fingers to laces with the witcher’s, and resume her train of thought that been said out loud “I want to try this just once, and you are the best candidate I can find.” Shani explains to him while the whole time her green-eyes never break contact.

“Really? How so?” Geralt quirk his brow at her.

“Obvious reason; you are a witcher so you can’t impregnate me and you don’t look so bad, that’s a plus.” Shani declared nonchalantly.

“Hmm…make sense.” Geralt shrugged his shoulders at her statement, but then he remembers another presence in the room “Fiona?” he asks the medic.

“She’s asleep, I tended all of her wounds and bruises.” Shani's eyes trail up from his broad chest to his face “I gave her some mixture that allowed for the faster healing process, but it has a side effect; she will sleep like a dead fish till nightfall.”

“Did you do that on purpose?” Geralt asks as he pulled Shani into the tub, laid her in between his legs.

“Maybe. I am a loud one after all.” Shani purr at him while she felt his erection grinding on her stomach.

The witcher grunts and readjusts their position under the water, he heard Shani yelp a surprise as he about to begin. Geralt expression turned to question.

“Be gentle, I have never done it before.” Shani’s face reddens and the witcher finds her shy-self endearing and cute.

They spent time in the small partition of room for hours.


	3. Fleeting Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night and morning after.

**Bound.**

* * *

* * *

**Fleeting Raven.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

The witcher returns to the room from the inn downstairs at the moment Ciri starting to awake. Geralt didn’t latch the door as he entered and approaching the young princess.

Tray of foods balanced between his arms, setting it down in front of her Geralt chuckles when he sees her nostrils moves as she inhaling the scent.

“Hmm…smells delicious…” Ciri slurred out as her head moves following the tray as the witcher playfully moving it around.

“Eat. You slept since midday.” Geralt finally set the foods down and make to stand up but Ciri tugging his elbow.

“You’re not hungry?” Ciri asks him with her sparkling eyes, candlelight plays with the depth and pattern in her irises beautifully. Some might considers calling her star-eyes if they can see as many details as he could. Which is something he shouldn’t do but he could not take his eyes off her whenever a moonlight shines on her feature.

He might have lost in her starry gaze as he heard her clear her throat loudly, then poking him with the bone she’s currently picking clean.

Geralt shook himself out of the trance he was fallen into, and after a heartbeat projecting a reassuring smile at her; he is still bewildered by the fact that he smiles in front of her, genuine ones, more times than the entire combination of his prolonged lifespan.

“I already ate downstairs.” Geralt answered her and Ciri simply nods her head, the witcher tries to stand up from the bed again and Ciri reluctantly lets him go.

Ciri eating in silence and nearly shed tears as she devours a seasoned roasted-chicken, it is the best meal she has for the last few days since the fall of Cintra, she never really appreciated the foods until the first night that she has to eat anything to survive. Even barks and roots fueled her to keep on running.

She glances at Geralt’s direction, sees him take out all the contents he kept inside a worn, leather bag of his. The witcher spread several vials, a copper bowl, a marble grinding stick and a bundle of thin-white cloths.

The witcher catches her wondering gaze and after giving her a knowing smug face, gathered everything and set them down on the floor near the bed, his back towards her.

She scoots herself from the previous position, stretching a bit and stifles a yawn, then reaches the position on the bed that directly behind his head. Poking her own passed his shoulder to look at what he is doing.

Geralt stiffen a little at her proximity, he can pick out all and every scent emanates from her; earthly remedies from what Shani applied on her bruises, lingered spices from the meal he brought, fragranced soap she used when she bathed, faint-whiff of her usual fragrances she used frequently back when she’s still at Cintra. The last one makes him wonders how she truly feels about the real world she has been forced into.

He saw how the dead of Calanthe affected the young girl, how fragile she felt to him when he held her in his arms as she cried, how she balled herself while she sleeps and her face scrunched up with contempt.

“What’re you doing?” Ciri asks as her eyes rake across various herbs and some strange-looking body parts.

“Witcher’s potion.” Geralt replied, prying his gaze from her mesmerizing eyes and continuing his formulae.

“What will it do?” Ciri asks again, her tone laced with interest and curiosity.

“Depends on which; some make me see in the dark and some make me keep on fighting even if I have broken bones.” Geralt relayed to her and heard a silent ‘oh’, the girl then shifted down from the bed and sitting beside him, studying everything in earnests.

She picked up one of many dried pieces of gods-know-what-s and inspecting it thoroughly.

“That’s arachas’ fang.” He told her and she drops it immediately, the witcher chuckles a little at her reaction. Ciri makes a face of disgust. Geralt smirk and prod her at her shoulder “Afraid of spiders?” the witcher muses.

“No! It just…why would someone keep things like these around anyway?!” She squeals out, dismissing his claims by changing the subject.

“Witchers benefited from some elements and properties these ‘things’” he makes a quote in the air with his fingers “have.”

“How so?” Ciri still keeps the dried fang away from herself.

Geralt doesn’t say anything, he grabs a knife from the nightstand and lightly drag the sharp metal along his forearm, blood seeping from his self inflicted wound.

Ciri gasps at the action, reach out to him and takes his bleeding arm into her hands, scanned the long-thin line of scarlet fluid and lifting her worried eyes toward the witcher’s calmed ones.

“What the fuck! Why are you hurting yourself?!” Ciri chided him harshly. Geralt just chuckled at her with amusement.

“Watch it, princess…quite a mouth you have.” Geralt joking at her and lazily retracts his captured arm out of her vise grip, Ciri at this point is fuming and confusing at the same time.

The witcher casually picking up the discarded fang and squeezes it firmly, greenish-transparent liquid seeps out from the cut surface and Geralt drops the venom directly into a pool of blood that produced by his forearm.

As soon as the venom mixed with the blood it turns into a solid ball of crimson. Ciri was marveled and terrified by the reaction she saw, turns her wide-eyes at Geralt who has a smug tugged on his lips.

Geralt gently pokes the blood-ball and it acted like a water jelly rather than a solid one as she assumes earlier.

“Arachas’ venom will make your blood clot rapidly and if it’s been injected directly to your main blood vessels? You would be death by minutes if not seconds.” Geralt lectured her with his calm and collective voices. Ciri nods her head in understanding as she took a poking at the jelly as well.

“But…” Geralt pauses for a dramatic touch and shows the girl dried petals of orange-colored herb “after you mixed it with Swallow, they will make a great mixture to stop the bleeding, external or internal.” Geralt grinds said petals and added some arachas’ venom into the bowl, constantly stirring the mixture and then he dipped his fingertip in.

“For external use, it’s simple; just applies it on the open wound and the salve with acts as sealing by turning excessive blood into a clot without any danger pure venom possessed.” He rubs the mixture lightly, intends to show the effects fully to Ciri’s curious eyes.

As he told her, Ciri sees the blood quickly dried and sealed the long gash perfectly; the venom preventing the clot to go stiff unlike usual clots she’d seen before.

“But for internal uses, you have to mix strong alcohol as the third ingredient. It helps for quick digestion so the potion will be in your vascular system as fast as possible; without the need to injecting it via syringe.” Geralt finished mixing White Honey into the previous mixture, the result is an orange-colorized clear liquid that the witcher carefully filling into his empty vials. There were enough for 3 vials.

“Did you have one that can heal bruises?” Ciri asks as the witcher cleaning the bowl with an alcohol-soaked piece of fabric.

“Yeah, of course. Some monsters don’t bite or claws you, they rammed.” Geralt answered casually without looking at her, so he didn’t see an expression of confusion and annoyance that plays on her face.

Ciri crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him judgingly and asks with slightly more stern voices; as stern as she could muster with her high pitch tone “Then, why did you have to bring a medic here? Was it because she’s cute?”

Geralt slowly turns his face up to meet her judging eyes, baffled by her questions to the point he snorts out with glee. Ciri hit him in his shoulder from where she sat across him, the witcher yelp out an ‘ow’.

“What’s so funny?” Ciri demands again.

“You don’t know about witchers, do you?” Geralt shot back with his brow quirks up.

“I know that your kind kills monsters for money and that you all have no emotions; just how everyone knows.” Ciri replied, feeling brooder and brooder by second as the witcher still looks at her like she was a child.

“Witcher’s potions are not for human, elder races too, they were full of poisonous agents that regular human’s body can’t handle.” Geralt explains to her, practically sees the gears in her head turning to comprehends all the details.

“So, I do need aid from a professional to tend for those bruises you have.” Geralt finished the sentence with a sincere small smile…that quickly turned into a smirk as he changed to her second question “As for our lovely medic. Yeah, she’s cute so that was a bonus.” Geralt whispered the last part to her and winked.

Ciri’s face reddened heavily while avoiding eye contact, rolling her strands of ashen hair between her fingers and before her courage dissipates, she asks “Was that why I heard those strange noises from the bathroom?” She is still staring everywhere but him.

Geralt slowly digests the question and his eyes widen, mouth agape and desperately searching for a suitable answer to give her; because explaining THAT to 14 years old was harder than teaching them how to fight.

“Well, that’s…” Geralt stutters a lot and sweating profoundly “It’s…just…”

Praise to any gods watching over him stuttering like a moron, Jaskier enters the room in a drunken state.

“…her sweet kiss…her sweet kiss…” the bard slurred out for a step or two then collapses on the floor, groaning sleepily and snores soon after.

…

Ciri finally conceded in the middle of the night, scanned the room and sees Jaskier properly sleep on a pillow that Geralt placed for him near the hearth. The witcher himself slouched sleepily against the bedframe on her left side.

She turns to lay happily facing the back of his milky-white hair, at first when she takes a good look at them, they were covered in grimes and dirt that the color almost resembles her own. But now after he baths thoroughly, and did ‘something’ hard to explain with the redhead medic, he seems refreshed and his white locks shone brightly when they caught a silvery light the moon casts upon them.

She knows that he needed sleep the most, he rode them here all night without a break. But she can’t stop herself from reaching her small hand towards them.

Ciri let her fingers rake through the curtain of his snowy tresses, combing them lightly and finds not a single knot amongst them. She keeps stroking the witcher’s hair lightly and carefully, for fear of waking him up.

Unbeknown to her, Geralt was never asleep; even when he pretends to be after sex with women, his mutation and enhanced senses make sure of that. He can’t fall into sleep when he heard even mice marching inside the wall or the snoring (despite how silently they were) of Jaskier and every patron on this floor keeps him awake even those faint conversations from the tavern downstairs. One of many reasons witchers prefer sleeping on the path out in the woods.

He heard her shifted on the mattress at the same time as he felt the action from the fabrics. The feelings of her fingers lightly tracing his scalp, the amount of wonders and curiosity in her touches plays across his skin.

Geralt let the girl played with his hair for a while and she retracted her hand from him. The witcher felt the warmth of her touch receding felt a pang of disappointment creeps into him. But it doesn’t even settle properly for Ciri returned her gesture, but this time he felt more than just a hand.

Ciri scooting herself closer to him and the witcher felt her breath hovering above his head, blowing hot air into his scalp and makes him shuddering a little at the sensations.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her face rested on the side of his head and he felt Ciri exhales softly as if the weight of the whole world pressed down on her petite frame.

Her shuddering breathes grazes his skin and Geralt can’t help but lean into them, nuzzles his head into her. He felt Ciri stiffen for a moment, then she relaxed back to the previous position as soon as he put a hand over her interlaced finger that ghosting over his sternum.

“Talk about it?” Geralt whispered to her.

Ciri only shaking her head slightly and unintentionally nuzzling her face into the side of his head, her nose and damp cheeks rub his skin.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks with a more soothing voice, lightly create a pattern on the back of her hands with his calloused fingers; it’s too much intimacy but she seems to be fine with it, so does he.

Ciri still not utter a word, continued on just the movement of her head to answers him.

“How can I help? Tell me something or give me a sign. Anything.” Geralt pleaded her; he doesn’t know shit about this kind of problem, Vesemir and other masters at Kaer Morhen taught him only how to effectively kill monsters, both in shapes of humans and beasts.

Ciri shifts herself again, releasing his neck as a mean to slid down from the comfortable mattress and settles onto his lap in front of the confused witcher.

After adjusting herself for a moment she speaks, quietly and a little shaken “Hold me like you did last night.” And with just that she wrapped her arms around the small of his back.

Geralt is at a loss for words; if only she has been older than she is now he wouldn’t even batting an eye to give her the comfort she seeks.

But in his eyes, she is still a child; lost and hurt one.

But the subconsciousness of him automated his reaction to her request.

The Witcher wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her in closer, another one directed his hand to softly stroking her cheek and hair. Geralt hums a soft lullaby song he remembered vaguely from Visenna, his mother who thrown him away like a pile of garbage at the main gate of Kaer Morhen, a lifetime ago.

Ciri’s breathing slowly evening out as she starts to fall asleep, pressing herself into the towering witcher who quickly became a safety to her mind and body.

Geralt’s lullaby filled the silent night as the Lion-Cub of Cintra cuddles into the White Wolf.

…

At near dawn Ciri refreshingly awakes, still cuddles into and enveloped in the witcher’s arms.

She looks at his relaxing face, he seems to be asleep. The princess adjusting herself a little to get a better look of all his features; small scar lined over his right eyebrow, the bridge of his nose have a horizontal short line of faded scar, his stubbles lightly framing his jawline and ticklish to the touch whenever she traces her fingers over them.

One protruding set of scar catches her attention; claw marks and bite wound adorned the side of his neck. Ciri slowly reaching her fingers toward them, tracing the length of one claw softly.

Geralt slowly opens his eyes; he does not know how he’d manage to fall asleep and he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much, he cherishes a proper sleep every time he got one. He looks down at the weight he felt pressing down to his chest and the sensation of her fingers caressing his skin.

“What is it?” Geralt heard her soft voice asks him.

“A Striga.” Geralt replied softly, letting her wandering fingers continue their exploration.

“Was it hard?” Ciri asks again, lifting her emerald-starry eyes to gazes into his glowing amber ones.

‘ _Yep, it’s morning now_ ’ was the response he about to give but decided against it; he’s not so stupid to ruin whatever this is between the lost princess and himself. So he replies to her question “Striga is one of many creatures that only seasoned witchers have a chance to survive. This one is more difficult because I intended to lift the curse, not kill it.” He relayed to her, watching the ray of sunshine plays with her unique irises.

“Why?” Ciri formed a question after digested his answer.

“She’s been cursed by her mother’s lover, the curse affected her after the mother dies, turning her into a striga. She was innocent, so there’s no reason to kill.” Geralt says nonchalantly, excluded so many details from the story as much as he could wanting to spare the girl some horror.

Ciri might admit, she felt more comfortable around him than she could ever imagine. Despite how he shows his claws and fangs to ward off outsiders, she saw the real him; soft, kind and caring than anyone would believe.

Ciri feels something she couldn’t explain. She sees details about him more than she ever gives a fuck to anyone outside her family.

And his smiles, genuine and playful ones always make her inside warms and tickles with strange feelings.

Ciri gazing into his eyes for a short while, until the sound of groaning erupts from Jaskier broke the trances both the witcher and herself has fallen into.

The two separated themselves from each other and starts their morning routine.

Ciri walking away from the witcher who is still sitting crossed-legs on the floor, stretching herself to kills all knots and cramps she got from curling up to the witcher all night.

What she didn’t know is that the action makes the gray shirt hugging at each curve she recently gained due to her puberty. Geralt’s eyes roam her form slowly, taking in every detail she unintentionally presents to him. Her athlete build suggests that she is the type that rather run around the city than sitting inside the palace to learn lady stuff like anyone who was born in the royal family would.

She disappeared from his eyesight and Geralt have to force his brain to function normally again. Rose from the spot and grab a jug of water, drinking it himself a bit and approach the groaning bard who surely has a hangover.

“…remind me next time, my friend, to not have a drink with dwarfs.” Jaskier grunts out as he thirstily poured down the cool liquid on his dry throat.

Geralt snort with amusement as he handed the bard a pack of Chamomile and sliced-Ginger bundled into a small ball.

“Not this again! It left weird flavors in my mouth for hours!” Jaskier protests without raising his voices too much and he still thinks the soft sunlight is too bright.

“If you want to lay here all day, be my guest. But at least this will ease your sick feelings.” Geralt placed the bundle on the bard’s chest “Mahakam’s spirit is not a joke, Jaskier, I thought you remembered that from Yarpen.” Geralt smirk as he stood up.

“A man should never refuse a drink, it’s a tradition…in Toussaint.” Jaskier jabs back, still groaning from time to time and finally take the bundle.

“Good luck with that then.” Geralt says as he gathered his loose hair and tied them into a bun behind his head, making way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier asks him.

“Downstairs, tell Cirilla to pack my things, we’ll be leaving as soon as possible.” Geralt replied and was out of the door.

…

As he reaches downstairs, many scents attack his nostrils; roasts beef, ale, whiskey, vodka, puke, drunkard’s odor, Lilac and Gooseberries…

Lilac…

And Gooseberries…

He scanned the room then his eyes settled on her intense violet orbs. Yennefer of Vengerberg was sitting there, alone, at the far corner of the tavern and the locals don’t seem to acknowledge her presence at all.

Geralt approaches her with steady strides and his senses scanning the space for any strange presences.

“How come that of all the witchers I have known in my life, Geralt, you are the only one I keep bumping into?” Her icy-melodic voices said in such a playful manner that he was accustomed to, Geralt stopped in front of the chair at her side and realized why nobody cares about her; illusion magic acted as a dome of the thick veil around the table.

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asks her with a calm and collective voice.

“I am wounded, witcher! Not even a ‘good to see you’?” Yennefer places her hands over her heart dramatically, feigning hurt expression on her face.

Geralt grunts a resigned sound and sitting down at the side.

“You look good…Yen.” Geralt softly says to her and he sees Yennefer’s posture soften a bit.

“Not so much, I’m afraid. The battle leaves some scars on me.” Yennefer gave him a small smile he rarely saw and pointed her fingers to her eyes.

Geralt focusing his sight and eventually sees past a veil of magic she had cast.

Her alluring violet orbs are not responsive to lights at all even when he waving his hand in front of them, but Yennefer still manages to catch his wrist and put it down on the table, weakly attempt to slotting her fingers into his.

“You are blinded.” Geralt states the obvious with the tone he reserves only for her, and recently Cirilla.

“Temporary, I still going for a treatment soon, hoping they will not take too long.” She chuckles a little at the way his fingers feel the same when they enveloped hers.

But the distant she felt was prominent, he’s changed since their last quarrel. Now, she fears that might be their last as well.

Geralt rubbing his thump soothingly on her palm, but the sensation and feels behind the act has changed. Both of them can feel it.

“Who is she?” Geralt looked up at her after he heard her question, eyes searching the meaning behind such question and sure enough, Yennefer hides them well.

“A surprise, one I _accidentally_ told you years ago.” Geralt replied to her when he figured out the source of her question.

“Hmm…Such fates we have, witcher. You fell in love with the one you tied to you by accident.” Yennefer paused for a moment to untangled her fingers from his, but Geralt hold them firmly and she relents, then the sorceress continues “And now…I thought I might have some feelings for you all of a sudden. It might be true what they say, that you will see everything clearer when you almost died.” Yennefer said in such a resigned manner.

Geralt just sit in silent, tracing a line on the palm of her hand tentatively. Then he inhales deeply and said “I have loved you, once. I almost wished for your love back in Rinde, you know?” he chuckles a little as Yennefer gave a soft giggle at his confession, Geralt continues “but I settled for just saving your life, I don’t want to force you for anything.” The witcher finished with a sincere smile projected directly at her.

Yennefer rarest smile tugged on her lips and she comprehends the information he gave her, then replied “I am such a fool to accused you like that, Geralt. If I am not so stupid…things might be different.” Yennefer said in her resigned tone, hiding any others that threaten to spill out in front of him.

Geralt doesn’t say anything, he just sits with her while she talks and talks, then he remembered what he has done and shush her “I shouldn’t say what I said to you, Yen. Forgive me.” The witcher pleads her with a firm squeezes at her hand.

“Maybe in another life, we might have a happy ending.” She chuckles sadly after she said and add “like in some shitty two crowns romance.”

“Hmm…maybe.” Geralt’s tone sounds identically resigned like her own.

Yennefer cannot see his face due to her damaged eyesight, but in her mind, the image of him emerges perfectly; white hair that she loves to run her fingers through, his piercing eyes that seem to be capable of looking right into her soul, his earthly scent that she still smell from the empty bedside sometimes.

The two unconsciously closing the gap between them, inches by inches their lips ghosting above one another and then, they kiss like they always used to; hard, passionate and full of fear for losing one another.

The kiss lingered on until the sensation shifted from longing into that of sadness and resignations. Yennefer was the first to retreats, their noses still nuzzling each other.

“Take her off the Continent for a time being, Geralt, she is not safe if she continues roaming in the North.” Yennefer whispers hovering over him, if there has been any other mage said this thing to him he might demand their silence and asking them how they know about the princess.

But this is Yennefer, he knows her well enough to not asks trivial questions about the information she held within her and just accept her advice.

Besides, she is the only one out of all mages on the Continent that he can truly trust. He lingered his nose on hers until she speaks again.

“Crach an Craite was like an uncle to her, I gathered that you two know each other well.” Yennefer still said in the same tone.

“Hmm…we are somewhat…friends, mutual acquaintances and all.” He said in a slightly amused tone at the last sentence.

Yennefer hums amusingly “One certain sorceress, I presume? One you caught in his bed once…years ago?” Yennefer playfully nudging him with her slightly long nose, earning a chuckle of amusement from the witcher.

“Yeah.” Geralt whispered out and with the last kiss, he and Yennefer broke apart.

“I will keep eyes and ears out for whispers regarding her from the Continent.” Yennefer assured him.

Geralt nods his head in gratitude to her, and then asks another question “Why are you willing to do so much?”

Yennefer looks past his shoulder to the direction of the stairs, one of her perfect eyebrows lifting, then she said to him in a tone of amusement “She looks cute and curious, I would love to properly know her someday. And she’s special, my illusion doesn’t work on her.” Yennefer finished and nudging her head for him to follow her line of (magical)sight.

Geralt has confusion on his face until he follows the gesture and then it turns into awkward and surprised one.

“I will have two passenger tickets reserves for the two of you in Novigrad. When you reach the piers asks for captain Vulgar.” Yennefer informs him, as shocked as he is now Yennefer knows well that he is still listening.

“Ri-right.” is all Geralt managed to utter.

“Till we meet again, Geralt.” Yennefer dared to move in and plant a kiss on his cheek, then he felt the vibration from his medallion and familiar vertigo anytime someone conjured a portal near him.

Cirilla stood there at the foot of stairs and looking at his direction with confusion, shock and one thing he doesn’t want to know he is the one causing it; hurt.

The girl hurriedly stomps up back to the upper floor.

Geralt quickly rises from his chair and jogging behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Snickering maniacally***


	4. Esseath me Cáerme, Me Baeg Feainn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing the biggest jerks of al the Aen Elle.  
> Dearg Ruadhri.  
> Eredin's boyband.

**Bound**

* * *

* * *

**Esseath me Cáerme, Me Baeg Feainn.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

The trip to Novigrad was peaceful, filled with silly songs Jaskier composed along the way, lots of bonfires and uncomfortable silences between Geralt and Ciri.

Since she walked in on him and Yennefer at the tavern, Ciri never sleeps in his arms again. She uses her new cloak to give her some warmth instead of even asked the witcher to hold her like she desperately wanted to.

Geralt’s mood turns brooder and brooder as every attempt to starts a conversation with her resulted in the girl not fully paid him any attention at all, Ciri settled into just ignoring him after the second day of traveling.

Jaskier can detect some changes in them immediately after the girl briefly left the room and came back with fuming posture, with Geralt hurriedly following her and a lingering scent of Lilac and Gooseberries reached his nostrils.

He wouldn’t judge a friend of him about their love life, especially Geralt, years after years he tried to meddle in the relationship his witcher friend have with the sorceress Yennefer of Vengerberg yields no result, sometimes they even backfired at him like that one scenario after they unintentionally saved the golden dragon, Villentretenmerth and his egg from Boholt’s reavers. That was the only time he realized how dangerous and scary a witcher can be after one became too emotional; resulting from decades of suppression they have to endure.

He will stay in his place while the white-hair brooding witcher who have issues about expressing his feelings before it’s too late and the ashen-haired fuming girl who has developed some strong attachment towards the aforementioned witcher, to the point that she is angry at him when she saw him interact with another woman; let alone someone Geralt also harbored strong feelings toward like Yennefer.

As the witcher trekking on foot and the princess following the path on horseback since morn, neither of them spokes a single word out of communicating about direction, Jaskier casually walking alongside Geralt’s current Roach, conducting new melody and tune inside his head; one that might resolve some tension between them.

When he starts to play some tune on his lute, Geralt turning his fiery glare back at the bard but Jaskier ignored the intensity he felt and keeps on playing. After a while he hums alongside each note he produced, the tone is soothing but refreshing at the same time.

Soon after the lyric came into his mind and he sings them out loud, caressing the beautiful meaning of love and hurt softly by his skillful fingers.

…

At noon, Geralt lead them to the path leading to a small settlement of loggers.

The witcher casually approaches Roach and tugging its rein firmly, directing the mare towards a vacant post.

Jaskier saw the two looking at each other’s eyes, lingering gazes seem to be a form of communication between them and he sensed that the tensions between the two of them are still hovering in the air surrounding their vicinity, but they have significantly depleted thanks to his efforts earlier.

“We’ll take a break here, one hour and then go on.” Geralt finally said out and Ciri tightly nodding her head in acknowledgment and dismounting the mare.

Geralt disappeared into the blacksmith’s shop and Jaskier leading Ciri into the local inn for food and resupplies.

After they have settled into their table, foods in front of them Jaskier betrayed his moral code a bit and asks out “Did you have a fight with Geralt?” and sees the girl straightened her back a little.

“It’s nothing, I just have a lot to think about.” Ciri dismissed the question and his concerns flawlessly.

“Come on, Fiona,” He still has to use her alias in public as Geralt and the girl herself insist “I can see it plain as daylight; you are angry at him about something.” Jaskier was smart enough to not directly referred to the source of the problem, years of converse with women taught him well.

Ciri glaring at him with annoyance, but Jaskier did not back down, he returns the intensity of determination to countered hers.

Eventually, the girl sighs defeatedly, slouching over the table as she drops her face into her hands. Composing herself for a while then speak to him in her small voices “I don’t know why but…I saw him with a woman that day, they seem…even closer than what I’ve seen with my grandparents and she was so pretty. And something in her when she was looking at him makes me feels uncomfortable.” Ciri spills out to him without making eye contact with anything, she’s just looked down at their foods, nibbling her bottom lip and her brows contorted into that of confusion.

Jaskier already knows Yennefer, but he decides to play along “Raven-black hair, dressed in black and white, inhumanly beautiful?” the set of questions makes her perking up at him.

“Yes! You knew her too?” Ciri asks out of curiosity.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, a sorceress. Geralt and I first met her in Rinde, right after your mother’s wedding.” Jaskier informs her.

Ciri absorbs the information and resting back on the chair, contemplating what she has seen from the interaction between this ‘Yennefer’ and her Geralt.

‘Her Geralt’, she repeated the thought.

And a traitorous blush creeps into her cheeks.

Dismissing the butterflies inside her, she resumes the thought. With a passing glance at the time, they seem to be madly in love with each other.

But now as she recalls every little detail she’d gathered from the way Geralt acted when the sorceress laces her fingers with his; reluctances and distances he put between them stood out, the way their kiss ended with the hurt Yennefer showed briefly on her perfect face, the expression on Geralt’s face when he sees her; albeit briefly before she turned and stomping away.

“They—” but she didn’t finish the conclusion she’d drawn, for Jaskier finished it for her.

“They were in love, emphasized on ‘ _were_ ’, Geralt had moved on from her.” Jaskier said for her and muttering under his breath ‘ _finally_ ’.

Jaskier added after a heartbeat “Which is something I didn’t know he can, considered how hard he fell for her back in the day.” ‘ _until you came along_ ’ Jaskier excluded the last sentence.

Ciri seems to digests the revelation very well and soon after, a small smile tugging at her lips as she eating with glee.

…

Everyone knows that Skellige harbored many rare species of monsters, reasons are that the locals lived a different lifestyle than the people on Continent and the environments of the Isles are suited for some nearly-extinct subspecies that can no longer habitat the mainland.

He musters any valuables he possessed to crafts himself a new set of gear; leather armor without shoulder pauldron, worn leather gloves and two sets of wooly scarves. Winter at Kear Morhen was harsh but it was nothing compared to the one on Ard Skellige.

His eyes catch a glimpse of one dagger that been hung on the show wall, the witcher approach the weapon and inspecting it carefully; the single-edge silver alloy gleaming in the light from the forge, elven vines detailed etching adorned the fuller that runs from the ricasso along the length of spine and ended an inch before reaching the tip, the hidden tang slotted in carved smooth-surface blackwood that decorated by golden winded thread. The witcher weighing it in his hand and pleased with the craftsmanship.

“I will take this too.” Geralt grab the dagger and walked to the owner.

When the owner sees what he chose as the last addition, he quickly stops the witcher from reaching into the pocket “For the little girl? You can take it, there’s no one here who wants elven craft anymore.”

The witcher expresses his gratitude and gathered everything onto his back, hiding the dagger inside his jacket.

…

“We will set the camp here.” Geralt announces as they reach a cavernous cliff; a practical choice for they have one side less to worry about.

Geralt routinely setting up the bonfire as Jaskier and Ciri make the sleeping area, one profit of the spot Geralt always chose to camp in snowy season is that they will have the roof over their heads.

Merely minutes after the fire is ready and Geralt is cooking while Ciri sits at the opposite of him and Jaskier lightly producing calm and soothing notes from his lute. The girl steals glances at the witcher whenever said witcher was busied with something that he didn’t pay attention to her wandering gaze.

“What do you think, Geralt? Should I compose a new piece for you or multiple? Years passed and somehow I’m still stuck with the one about paying for your service and kindness.” Jaskier jabbing questions toward the witcher, who currently stirring some stew he made from supplies they have bought.

Geralt quirk an eyebrow at the bard, as if he ever have a say in that prospect of their friendship; the beneficial of the bard’s reputation from accompanied him through many ups and downs that somehow turns out more heroic than he remembered happened.

“I do need new inspiration though...tell me, witcher, with our years apart, did you came across anything interesting?” Jaskier continued as he quietly caressing the strings on his lute into melodies unrefined.

“I almost died, from ghoul’s venom of all things…and I found her.” Geralt directs the spoon he uses towards Ciri’s direction.

Ciri eyes trailing back to him, trying to make eye contact but Geralt quickly went back to stirring the stew, it’s aromatic and herbal scents hanging around their small camp.

“Well, that’s kind of dull. I need something more…thrilling to keep the audience pumping and anticipating.” Jaskier waving his hands in the air to emphasizes his point. Then he turns his attention to Ciri.

“What about you, Cirilla? I’m sure you have some adventurous stories to indulges a humble bard like me, huh?” his eyes full of hope and eagerness, similar to a puppy eyes.

“You know my story already, Julian. I told you back at Griffin’s Tail, remember?” Ciri said to him with her eyes rolled to her forehead.

“But I do want to hear it again! With more enthusiastic if you will, I do love your melodic tone when you tell a tale.” Jaskier tries his damn-est to charm the princess to do what he wants.

Geralt subtly strains his hearing in anticipation of hearing Ciri’s story as well, since he found her the girl never told him anything before the aftermath he rode in.

…

After the stew was gone and the cold breezes appeared, Jaskier lounging on one of the boulders around them, randomly composing relaxing notes as some form of gratitude towards the witcher for the food he provided.

As much as Geralt tried to feign his annoyance to the bard’s presence, he couldn’t deny the comfort and sense of joy Jaskier seems to bring with him.

“How far from Novigrad are we?” Ciri asks out after a song or two has been played, directing her question toward Geralt.

The witcher didn’t think too much about the atmospheric changes from Ciri, so he doesn’t even bother to look her in the eyes and continue sharpening his sword calmly while answering her question “tomorrow evening we should be in Oxenfurt and then it was about a half-day trek to Novigrad.” He replied in a stoic tone of voices, deprived of any resemblance to the kind and caring tone she was recently accustomed to.

Ciri felt a pang of sadness hit her at the way Geralt seems to distance himself from her, back to usual brooding self he projected to anyone but her; until now.

Ciri regain her posture again after a moment, changing her voice to the joyous girl she was back in the day “Would you let me walk tomorrow, I’m sick of riding on horseback.” She does hope he would get a hint of change in her demeanor.

Geralt still doesn’t look her in the eyes, sharpening his meteorite steel sword excessively and straighten his back a bit as if lost in thought. Then he replied, “Don’t think that’s a good idea, you will only slow me down.”

Ciri’s weak smile of hope vaporized immediately, it was replaced by a snarling grimace and hurt that reach her darken starry-emerald orbs, that somehow seems to burn with fire inside to Jaskier’s observation.

The girl stood up abruptly, her whole body shaking violently; from the amount of anger course through her and not the chilling air enveloped them.

“Are you saying that I am a burden!?! Are you to tell me that I’m nothing but some hindrance to you!?!” Ciri is practically yelling at the stilled witcher with venom neither of the men has faced before.

Geralt finally lifts his eyes from the task at hand and looking at her, he saw tears welling up in her eyes and at a loss for words.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he grunts out to her, with a look of ridicule expressed from his face that seems to irk her furthermore.

“Like hell you didn’t! you just said it yourself that I will slow you down, did Yennefer promised to meet you there or something? You seem dying to be there as soon as possible.” Ciri’s tone of voice turns to sarcastic and snippy as she accusing him.

Geralt’s confusion to her outburst grows more and more; what’s this have to do with Yennefer?

“What the fuck does Yen have to do with all of this? I just want to get you to Skellige as soon as we can.” Geralt gravel voice said collectively, try to bottle down the irritation he felt by the accused look she directed at him.

“Oh, so you can get rid of me? Good riddance then, huh?” the girl continues her bites and Geralt needed to musters all of his conscious to not lashing at her.

“Cirilla, what the fuck are you talking about?” Geralt was about to continue when suddenly Ciri let out a cry and everything around her flings off from their position, even himself and Jaskier.

“ ** _Essea te cáerme_**!” her voice sounds ethereal now as if many speaking the same sentence through her at once “ ** _Zireael an Gwynbleidd Ymladda Gynvaelwen_**.” Ciri chanting elder speech as if it was her original tongue “ ** _y Gynvael an Bloed, Marw Gwynbleidd_**.” Both Jaskier and Geralt couldn’t fully translate them.

Geralt gritting his teeth and braved through the strong current of pure chaos explodes off her; he estimated right, she’s more powerful than her mother.

He consumes the chaos from the fire, that somehow still burning brightly, his vision adorned with white spots and the searing pain of hot-rod shooting up his spine as he carelessly absorbs them into himself and the fire quickly died down when he finished.

Geralt uses the same method he once attempted at Pavetta’s wedding; he shot Aard toward the possessed girl whose eyes fixed into the back of her skull.

The sign did nothing, he tried again and again but yield the same result. Geralt changes his tactic as he difficultly casts Yrden under her while he slowly pushes through the powerful force coming from her.

The magic circle shattered immediately and he sees with his own eyes that Ciri is starting to ascend into the sky.

He gathered all of his strength; every fiber of muscles he got, every drop of determination surging through his whole being as he casts Axii at her while running forward.

The sign hovering over her like flies and dissipated soon after, but now Geralt is inches apart from her.

He braces himself for last time and tackles her, both of them disappeared into the bright greenish burst of light.

Jaskier releasing his grip on Roach and the tree he holds on to as soon as the pushing forces vanished.

Jaskier whirls around, looking frantically for the two of them everywhere but finds no traces of them rather than the spot Ciri previously floating that’s been scorched as if a lightning bolt has stroked there.

“Where the hell?” Jaskier curses and when focusing on his surroundings again, he felt a strange cold seep into the area.

Distorted laughter and horses neighing emerges from the sky above, the bard looked up to the source and nearly got a heart attack.

…

Geralt found his sense of surrounding came back to him again after what felt like an eternity of deprivation inside Ciri’s portal.

Geralt looked down at the unconscious girl whose eyes and brows squint tightly as if she is in her nightmare, Geralt sitting up and laid her on the soft grasses. He inspecting her face thoroughly; her freckles painted on the bridge of her nose giving off the vibe of innocent, her smooth skins dirtied by specks of dust and streaks of tears she spilled a moment ago yet the more he roaming his eyes over them he finds her to be the most stunning creature he had ever crossed path with.

Ciri exhaustingly blinks her eyes open, looking around confusingly and when her eyes meet his, she tries to get away from him. Geralt was never intended to use his superior strength over her but he doesn’t want to let her out from under him either.

The girl wriggles inside the cage formed by the witcher’s whole being, her legs encasing one of his, laces of his shirt untied somehow and now her bare hands push firmly on his rippling muscles, strands of his milky tresses caressing the side of her cheeks as his face hovering inches from her own.

The position reminded her of the night when one of those monsters tried to force itself on her, but with Geralt, she doesn’t feel fear or dreads, only excitement and nervousness mingled with the lingering waves of anger from earlier.

His intense ambers gazed into her soul, shifting all across her face and then one of his calloused thumbs wiping the residue of tears and dirt off her face. His touches are as gentle and comforting as she used to that night. Ciri couldn’t find her voice but Geralt is the one who starts speaking.

“I will never leave you, Ciri. Don’t even think about it again because it will never happen.” Geralt deep and soothing voice whispered to her as she was lost in his silhouette framing by the silvery moonlight.

He inhales and exhales softly as if entranced by her scents, then rests his forehead on hers, the vibration of his gravel tone sent shivers down her spine and forces a soft moan from her by how close proximity they are in.

“You are not a burden, and never will be. You are many things to me but that.” Geralt said while his eyes still tightly closed and his breathing mingled with hers “ ** _Esseath me Cáerme, Me Baeg Feainn_**.” His elder speech came out strangely smoother than any lines she has ever heard him said, despite not fluent in the elder tongue she somehow knows the meaning of them is somewhat beautiful.

Ciri finally reaching his face, cupping him between her smaller hands and tracing the lines and scars adorned his rough-handsome face that enthralled her since the first time she saw it.

“What’s it means?” Ciri speaks softly into his ears, Geralt inhaling her intoxicating scents again, stashed them deeply in his core and plastered the feelings they brought firmly in his brain.

“You are my destiny…” Geralt retreats from her a bit, opens his ambers to dwelling into the bottomless pit inside her emerald orbs, seems fitting to the next phrase he translated for her “…My little star.” His lips move instinctively to plant light kisses onto her palm as he takes one of her hand in his.

Another hand of her crept her fingers closer to his parted lips, massaging her thumb over his bottom lip as she felt Geralt lowering his face to hers agonizingly slow.

As their lips about to join, sets of footsteps stop them.

Couples of teens and adults emerge from the woods to Ciri’s right, looking at them with widening eyes and a bit tipsy from what she can tell.

“Ha! Told ya I eard some noises round here. Looks like an old man tryna get some!” one of the girls chirps drunkenly and pointing finger at the two with giggles bursts from others.

“At em, gramps!” another cheers up.

“The festival is that way, lovebirds, come join us after you finished, eh?” the tallest of the group slurred out and soon they were leaving the opposite direction that they came from, some even recognized the eyes of Geralt and gossiping something about Ciri will probably need hours before they can join them.

Ciri blushed angrily she felt like fire burns her skin, and the tightness she felt from Geralt’s pants only quickening her blood flow.

The witcher has his usual smug plastered on his face as he wiggles his brows at her “So…want to join them, or we can continue?” Geralt growls at her hungrily, Ciri felt wetness start to form between her thighs but then she lifted herself to capture his smug mouth fiercely and inexperience.

Geralt stutters a little but returns the intensity she shot through him, guiding her properly to the art of lips-smacking he has perfecting over decades.

When she is satisfied, she forcefully pushes him off of her, standing up proudly and smiling mischievously at the dumbfound witcher.

“That’s all you will get, witcher.” Ciri poking his chest along each word she said and then she pecks his lips again “For another year.” And then she breaks off following the direction the group told them.

Geralt sat there, mouth agape as he locked his eyes to her ashen tresses that bouncing adoringly as she tiptoeing away from him. Then with an amused smile and resigned exhales he stood up “Fair enough.” And follows her.

…

He led them back to the same spot they have settled the camp but found it empty and strangely covered in a thin layer of ices.

He didn’t aware that Ciri was born exactly on the night of Belleteyn, she told him that she turned fifteen tonight at the clearing when they joined the festival with the locals, he had calculated before that she might be conceived around May when he found out that Pavetta was pregnant.

So, he gave her the dagger right when the teenagers start hopping over the fire as the moon reached its peak, as a gift.

Ciri seems content from the expression showed on her face when she snatches the weapon from his hand and unsheathed the beautifully crafted blade. And the way she collided into him on his lap soared his heart to high heaven.

But now, to the matter at hand.

“What the hell happened?” Ciri exclaims under her breath as she inspecting the area, then turns her head to him and asks with a curious voice “Is it me?”

Geralt dismissed her question by shaking his head “It’s not from your power, whatever that might be, it didn’t freeze the area like this.” Geralt sharp eyes roamed the area and sets on hoops track leading away towards the west. Jaskier and Roach.

“Then what caused this?” Ciri asks again as she reached the witcher to stands behind him while he crouches down to observes the trails Jaskier left behind.

“Jaskier might know something, he’s leading Roach and our supplies away in that direction.” He pointed out to her and Ciri couldn’t even see any indication of his deduction.

“How can you be so sure?” Ciri looked up at him, quirking her brow.

“Tracks; they littered the road our dear bard has taken. See?” Geralt points for her again but Ciri couldn’t separate what he saw with her own eyes.

“Nothing.” Ciri shrugged her shoulder defeated at him.

Geralt hums and just drop the explanation for another time. He stood up and ushers her to walk ahead of him “Come on, let’s find him before he gets himself into trouble. Again.”

…

They find Jaskier about three miles later, the bard pacing frantically back and forth and seem to pick up Geralt’s habit of talking with Roach.

“Thanks Melitele! Where were you guys!? I was worried sick.” Jaskier approached them and take them in a bear hug, in which Geralt seems annoyed but keep his mouth shut and Ciri just returns the hug.

“We…teleported somewhere.” Geralt informs his friend as they finally settled down another camp, despite the amount of time they have left till sunrise, three or four hours of sleep are better than nothing.

“What the fuck was that blizzard?” Geralt asks as soon as a new bonfire has been lit.

“Scratch that, what the fuck happened with Cirilla?!” Jaskier jabs back at both of them; the mentioned princess has no explanation to give and the witcher doesn’t fully understand.

Geralt says it anyway “Like what happened with her mother, Ciri is the Source.” Geralt look at Ciri, who sitting beside him, with concerns lining his eyes and face “Her conduit capability is off the chart and what happened is the result of emotional outburst, albeit a stronger one than that of her mom you and I witnessed almost 16 years ago.” Geralt relayed the information to both of them.

Jaskier has fallen into his thought, Ciri tries to wraps her head around what Geralt revealed to her.

“And she can conjure a portal at ease.” Geralt added.

“So, that’s why you and Yennefer want to get her off from the mainland; she’s something special...” Jaskier concluded.

Geralt was just nodding his head affirmatively.

“Enough about me.” Ciri interjects the two who was deep in thoughts “What that blizzard we saw at the site, Jaskier?” she finished the question as she looking directly at him.

Jaskier shivers, not sure from the cool night or from the horror he saw before.

He looks at Geralt and Ciri intensely, clearing his throat and speaks “Do you ever heard about the Wild Hunt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speeches came from  
> https://lingojam.com/TheWitcher%3AElderSpeech


	5. The Wolf and The Swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexy time.  
> Training time.  
> Choreographed fight scenes.  
> Brooding.  
> Pining.

**Bound**

* * *

* * *

**The Wolf and The Swallow.**

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Your footwork is wrong, start again.” Geralt stern voices nagging her from where he stands.

Ciri blows air to chases off her wandering strands of ashen locks that dampened by lots of sweats she never knows she could have with chilling air on Ard Skellige.

She came here about two months ago, they were lucky that Jaskier’s birds warned them about bounty hunters that stationed in Novigrad, Geralt broke his promise as he entrusted her to the captain’s sister to bring her here safely while himself stayed behind and hunted down every last one of those hunters then he arrived one month after her.

.. .. ..

_When she hopped aboard the piers, she was greeted by Hjarlmar and Cerys, Crach’s children and her friends, the Jarl himself was also present as he welcomed her with a hug fitting his moniker; Sea Bear. Clan An Craite and Her family are always close due to Crach’s relationship with her mother, they were best of friends._

_“Welcome! Little Swallow, oh how I’ve missed ye, girl.” Crach said to her as he laughed loudly as usual._

_“Ciri! Ye look awful.” Was Cerys pointing out at her as the ginger girl approached and bearhugging her._

_“I’ve missed you too, you hag.” Ciri squealed happily as the two hugged and dancing around like some drunkards._

_Hjarlmar approached her, smiled his trademark wide-grin and showing his missing teeth from back when he challenged her to ice-skating and then had a nerve to kiss her when they reached the finish line. Ciri still remembered the event vividly._

_He hugged her all of a sudden, Ciri almost punched him again if not for Cerys that rejoined the embrace, three of them form an odd-looking ball of furs and joyous tears._

_Crach looked passed her as if he was searching for someone, and he turned back to Ciri “Where’s White Wolf? Isn’t he traveling with ye?”_

_Ciri exaggeratedly sighs for the sake of dramatic, mixed with her disappointment and hurt from how the witcher just shoved her on board and quickly disappeared through the crowds._

_“He ditched me as soon as we reached the ship.” Ciri pouted playfully as Crach, who apparently knew Geralt well, burst out laughing._

_“I’m certain he has good reasons. If not, when that old dog comes here, I’ll tie him up in ropes and delivered him to you in person, little bird.” Crach said to her with his usual cheerful personality and winked._

_“He has, bounty hunters are looking for her and our dear noble Geralt of Rivia stays behind to keep her safe.” A cool and chilling voice came from behind her, Ciri snaps her head backward to see a certain sorceress walking toward her in what sure to be expensive furs, seems to be even more expensive than what she had ever seen in the royal court._

_“Hmm, I don’t see why that witcher enthralled by you so much.” Yennefer looked down at her with judgmental gaze and tone of voices, she seems to notices that without those ridiculous high-heeled the sorceress must be above her head by only an inch._

_Ciri has an expression of dumbfounding on her as she looks at the sorceress, tempers rising up and up as she notices the eyes of Yennefer roaming her head to toe._

_And before she can retort with the lengthy verse that would sure make those sailors she lived with blushes Yennefer cut the meeting to a stop by demanding that the Jarl take Ciri to her chamber instead of the one that previously prepared._

.. .. ..

Ciri was deep in the recalling of her thought that she missed the swing of the practice golem Yennefer conjured for her training, the wooden sword collides with her shoulder in the wrong angle, dislocating it with a loud ‘crack’

Ciri shouts in pain as she instinctively parried the continuous momentum of the sword and managed to puncture it in its chest. As preprogrammed, the golem stops all motion and stilled in the posture it has, it took a week for her to guided the sorceress to perfectly programmed that to suit Geralt’s training and her own movements.

Ciri hovering her good hand over the dislocated shoulder and attempts to reset it on her own but winces every time, Geralt quickly jogged towards her kneeling form.

“Have I ever told you that you need to always focus?” His voice was stern but laced with worries, he bashes her hovered hand away firmly, not too hard but not a lover’s touch she used to outside of training. Inspecting her shoulder closely for any additional injuries then he sighs with relief as there is none.

“Every single damn time.” Ciri grunts out while gritting her teeth, using the breathing technique he taught her once.

“And yet,” Geralt positioned her shoulder as a warning sign, Ciri gets a hint and take a deep breath, bracing herself. Geralt breathed in and resetting her shoulder in a swift movement, Ciri yelps out and whimpers for a short second as she loses her breathing. Geralt moves in to plant a light kiss on the relocated shoulder, his stubbles pricking the skin under the fabric of her blouse “come on, we still got another hour.” Geralt stood up after patting her encouragingly on the back, Ciri makes a face and glaring at him.

“Does the lady not earn a break after her injury?” she asks, pouting but still following him up.

“Not when said lady begged me to train her with doe eyes, no.” Geralt smirk at her and walked to the golem to reactivate the mechanism.

“Can I use the same method to change your mind?” Ciri quips as she weighting her practice sword in her hands, rearrange her body into the fighting stance she adapted some elements from Geralt’s.

The witcher snorts out loud and stepping out of the circle “Nah, _You_ want to train for two hours each, three sets each day. I will give you just that, little star.” Geralt chimed in from his spot and signaled for her to start.

“Don’t overuse it, old man, I might starting to hate it.” Ciri playfully snipping at him as she slowly circling the golem.

“Enough for banter, Ciri, fight.” Geralt commands with an amused smile and his tone sound content to her ears.

.. .. ..

_Yennefer left after a week that Geralt arrived, the sorceress and her’s relationship was somewhat rocky at first but as time passed by Ciri starting to appreciate the sweetness underneath all of Yennefer’s hardened shell. That’s why when she finally leaving the girl hugged her tightly for a minute or so, while the sorceress chuckles softly and caressing the top of her head._

_“Do not forget what I taught you, my duckling.” Yennefer said as she conjuring up a portal._

_“Never, lady Yennefer.” Ciri stifled a cry that trying to break free._

_“Prepare for the test at Yuletide, my little swallow.” And with that Yennefer stepped into the contorted time and space._

.. .. ..

After she landed a fatal blow on the golem successfully, Ciri collapsed with exhaustion and sprawling on the cold surface of the training courtyard.

The girl panting, sweating and satisfying at the same time, she can finally beat the golem without getting herself more than small bruises that she will enjoy in the care given by her witcher later.

As Ciri punching at the clear sky, the grinning face of Geralt came into her view. Ciri beaming up at him, crooning herself proudly in her laying state and the witcher chuckles cheerily to her.

“How about that, any good?” Ciri asking out between panting as Geralt lowered himself alongside her, propped onto his right side facing her so close.

“Some moves still unrefined but that’s for another two hours.” Ciri nearly groans; what evil possessed her to be so eager as to request the training from a witcher, she would never know.

Geralt prodding her side as he makes a stand and extends his hand to her as an invitation.

“Let’s get you to relax before we go for another round.” And Ciri eagerly took his hand.

…

Training with him passed by about three months, Ciri was doing better and better each day as she received several bruises and cuts after Geralt stepped up the method of training to steel sword for the golem, not as sharp as his witcher’s blade or hers but still capable to break some skins.

Her flexibilities along with dexterity benefited from her smaller frame and lighter weight makes her somewhat a challenge for the witcher as their training turns into sparring sessions after the golem broke.

Although every match ended with Geralt disarmed her, his ‘punishment’ the following night is something she really looking forward to.

They still keep it in their pants, mind you, Ciri stays true to her words that she expressed to him; she doesn’t want them to go too fast and she will be the one who makes the decision of change. Geralt was okay with that as long as she helped him relieved some tensions from time to time.

Ciri never thought things that Geralt did to her were possible if she was not the one experiencing them, one of many prospects of living as long as him she supposed.

“Come at me, Ciri.” Geralt challenged her as he reversing the grip of his sword and slowly circling her like a predator measuring its prey.

The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down her spine, Ciri concentrating her power and let them course through her whole being, then she wills to get behind the witcher and blinked.

Geralt’s senses that covered the small sparring circle couldn’t pick any trace of Ciri for a brief moment, and then his reflexes automated the reaction out of him as he felt a tug of her familiar presence from behind.

If he’s not a witcher the fight would be over then and there, he parried her thrust with skillful control of his sword and deliver a counter attack by punching forward with his pommel.

Ciri sparred with him often enough to engraved his fighting style into her mind, she flexes her body out of the way and following her own momentum with a short swing aim at his right under the rib.

Geralt’s eyes followed her attempt and with his unnatural reflexes and inhuman strength, twisting himself and pushes his left palm hardly on the flat of her swinging blade, forced it down and losing the intended impact as he side stepping out of the way.

Quick as a viper attack, Geralt flips his sword from his right hand to his left, gripping the hilt loosely as he swirling the blade down at her again with precise and practiced grace.

Ciri let her instinct take over as her muscle memory guided her to bracing the abashed sword closely to herself and contorting her shoulder out of the arc of his sword by fraction of centimeters and ramming said shoulder into his side after she swiftly change her footing and gain upward momentum by pushing her feet hard into the ground as to let physics aided her.

Geralt’s been tacked hard by Ciri and staggered a bit from his previous spot, his footwork faltered as he catches a blur of Ciri launching in at him with the too-familiar grip of the sword in reverse grip he often uses.

But the witcher still has some tricks up his sleeves, changing the loose grip of his hilt into a firm one and flicks the sword in half circle with enough force behind it to bashing Ciri’s stab out of her initial target. Geralt followed by his right hand gripping her smaller hands at the hilt of her swords and trapped her movements masterfully.

Ciri tries to break free from his grip but the fight was over as soon as he sliding into her inner space and placed the edge of his sword in a reverse grip by his left hand firmly against the neck.

“Do not stop until your opponent cannot fight back, humans have so many weak spots you can—” he couldn’t finish as the wind has been knocked out of his lungs when Ciri’s knee make contact with his groin.

His grip loosened and Ciri rolls out from his vicinity and falling into her usual guard.

Geralt slouching over himself, his free hand between his manhood that the girl recently hit with her knee, face contorted between pain and admiration.

“Something like that?” Ciri asks from her position, twirling her sword around with a smirk plastered on her lips.

Geralt couldn’t respond properly. He just gives her a thumb up.

“Ciri! Let’s race to the mountain!” Cerys shout out to her from the entrance.

“Coming!” Ciri yells back and sheathing her sword in a scabbard on her back, approaching the winded witcher whose eyes tracking her every movement.

“Can I go now, seems like today’s lesson is over?” Ciri said with a smugness that rivaled his own. She would be the death of him someday.

“Be careful, Ciri.” He wheezes out as the throbbing still present.

Ciri grins widely at him and steps in to hug him with her arms around his neck, her sweaty and musk scents stirs fire inside him and somehow eases the throbs herself planted firmly in his lower part.

Ciri skipping happily to the entrance and following Cerys towards their destination. Geralt regain his breathing and subsided the throbs successfully, the witcher stood up and make ways to their chamber to get some of his gear and prepare to take a contract the locals informed Crach.

…

“How long ye planned to stay here, Geralt?” Crach asks him while they are in a feast, celebrating the birthday of Svanrige, King Bran’s only son.

Geralt chugged the mead down in one gulp, whenever you sat and have a drink with Skelligan do not expect anything lesser than this, and feels his blood circulating faster resulted in higher body temperature to brave the cold night.

This is the sixth months Ciri and him wintered here under Crach’s hospitality, majority of the time included training Ciri in the Witchers’ dance; primarily swordplay against armed-opponent as he wants to strengthen her foundation on what witchers considered a basic before taking her to the advance lessons of how to fight monsters.

A part of him doesn’t want to teach her at all, this lifestyle is not what he would recommend the young princess to pursue and the optimist part of him is dying to hones her in everything he possesses, for unforeseeable future.

.. .. ..

_Ciri moans softly as his calloused hands smoothing her skins from under her firm breasts down towards her inner thighs while they are sitting in a warm bath together; her naked back pressed into his chest._

_Geralt smiling softly as he trails wet kisses from the nape of her neck to her collarbone, salving tiny scars accompanied her sweet skin. Ciri mewling adoringly at the way Geralt’s shallow stubbles pricking her skin melting her bones._

_His callouses roaming every bundle of nerves, eliciting many sounds to filled their private chamber Crach an Craite specifically set up for her._

_“I love the way you cried out,” Geralt hissing into her ear, his hot breath and the way he delivered the line makes Ciri slowly spreading her legs for him, allowing his wandering fingers to slides down her navel and rakes her ashen bushes. Geralt takes her earlobe between his teeth as his index grazing her clit, Ciri arches her back and crane her neck backward with soft whimpers to the sensation his action brings “give me another, Ciri.”_

_Geralt starts rubbing his index and middle fingers tentatively over the budding nerve as his other hand keeps her jerking hips in their place. Ciri meek shaken voices ring melody in his ears as Geralt increasing the pressure and speed while Ciri bucked her hips harder, trying to grind against his rubbing fingers._

_“Fuck, Geralt!” Ciri gritted out as she bites down her lower lip falling closer to the climax she desperately wants. Swing her right arm to hook behind his neck as she twists her upper body, which flushes pink in the dim candlelight, to capture his eager lips._

_The kiss was hot and sensual, replicating the rhythm of his fingers over her most sensitive spot. Ciri introduces her tongue into his mouth and Geralt returned her passion tenfold._

_She felt his hardened shaft rubbing her backside, his precum covered the tip as she unceremoniously riding into his skilled fingers._

_Geralt grunts into the kiss as he inserts one finger into her warmth and felt her tightness squeezing it. Ciri bit his lower lip as her ecstasy climbing higher and higher with each stroke of his middle that lodges deeply to the knuckle and pulling out to the tip in a frantic rhythm._

_“I’m close.” Ciri pants out into his mouth and Geralt sealed the distance between them, tasting every bit of her mouth with his wandering tongue, eventually breaks off as he felt her climax getting closer and closer._

_“Come on, star-eyes.” He growls at her in the deepest voice he can muster, Ciri’s small voice makes his member throbs painfully, aching for a release._

_Seconds after, her cries tore the peaceful night as she bucked up her hips when the waves of orgasm hit her, hard._

_Her muscles spasms as she rides off the waves, moaning into his ears as Geralt uses both of his hands to kneading her breasts and teasing her perking nipples._

_After minutes passed and Ciri gave him a release he wants, the two stepped out of the tub and dressed for the night._

_Ciri combing her hair excessively, many aspects she ingrained by Yennefer, as Geralt sits behind her and exposing her neck for him to plant many soft and loving kisses on her flushes ivory flesh._

_Ciri hums contently at the way Geralt shows his affection, his damp hair falls on her shoulder and she grabs a towel then throw it on the top of his head. The witcher chuckles softly and makes his way toward their bed, drying his hair along the way._

_Ciri absentmindedly tracing her own sets of scars, not so prominent and obvious as his but presents to the touch whenever her fingers raked over them._

_“They trained you like this?” Ciri asks out as she gathered her ashen long locks into a bun behind her head with a pin, one that Yennefer left for her. Exposing her supple neck that was full of hickeys, heavy and light ones._

_Geralt grunt out an affirmation while laid back on the silky mattress; his old bones start to love them._

_Ciri approaches him, Geralt has his eyes shut and one hand behind his head but he can sense her closer and closer by the air he inhales. The mattress weighted down as her smaller frame crawling on them._

_Geralt open his eyes to take in all of her beauty; firm muscles adorned her whole being and clutch underneath the fabric she wore, her curves growing constantly as one at her age should, her loosen ashen hair is now cascaded down one side as she straddles his abdomen, white linen nightgown enhancing her stunning emerald eyes, the soft smile tugging at her perfect lips that rarely painted by lipstick, faint dots of freckles on the bridge of her nose._

_“Seems easy enough to be one, can I be a witcher like you?” Ciri said with curiosity as she seeks his hands to laces her fingers with his, she brought his bigger hands to lay on either side of her hips and sighs contently when Geralt starts to massaging a pattern on her hipbones._

_“No.” Geralt said with his usual gravel tone, looking her right into the eyes as if to convey more meanings behind a singular response he gave._

_“Why?” Ciri eyebrows knitted together and she lowered herself towards him, hovering her face inches from the witcher’s gruff one._

_“The only master left at Kaer Morhen is Vesemir, and he is a swordsmaster who knows nothing about how to do the mutation.” Geralt relays information to her, paused for a bit, then resumes “And even if he did, none wishes to reproduce my kind anymore; mages, humans or even me and my brothers.” He searches her face and sees conflicts of emotion clashing inside her mind._

_“And there’s no woman or girl that can become a witcher, the mages who invented the procedure made sure of that; we were meant to be a cold and uncaring killing machine uses for eradicating monsters from the Continent, centuries later and look; there’s so few left by now and humans evolved enough to fend for themselves.” He rants with a cruel and bitter smile while Ciri looked at him in silence, her face still as a porcelain doll._

_“There’s no use for us anymore, now if they don’t want to dirty their hands, all they have to do is pitch enough gold and make a contract on something that even a witcher can deal with.” Geralt continued with dark chuckles that escaped his mouth “Or if they were brave enough, surrounded one with dozen men with long-reach weapons; poleaxe, spear, lance, even a fucking pitchfork would do the trick.”_

_Ciri continuously laid on his chest silently, listening to his usual slow heartbeats quickening their pace with each sentence he let out with a considerable amount of venom that not exactly directed at her but still stung nonetheless._

_“You know that we’d been grouped for ten boys each? Physical training depleted the number to seven and then the three Trials finalized to only three boys to emerges out as mutants.” He nearly spit at the last word, Ciri has tears pricking her eyes but keep her turmoil in check, intend to be an ear for him “But for me? no, that’s not the end. There’s this mage, Quinto Eregor, he said he found something related to the mutation that he wanted to try; so, he picked me and this boy, Grekain, to be his lab rats. Said that because of our potential from the reports he read, two of us would be the perfect fit.” Geralt has a faraway look clouded his eyes and if she doesn’t have tears already Ciri might dare say that she detects some welling in his amber orbs as well._

_Geralt’s tight fist loosened and stroking along the length of her spine, intend to anchor himself to the present rather than trapped in the past, he resumed after a long silence._

_“Grekain’s scream echoing off the walls, he stops after a couple of hours because his larynx collapsed and soon after that, he died, on that table.” Geralt said with slightly shaken but tight voices “Then it was me. you know how the mutation makes you feel?” that was rhetorical question as he did not wait for an answer “It was like you have been forced to witness someone cut you open and yanks everything inside out or tore off your limbs, then they do something with those and clumsily put you back together again, stitching you whole with steel wire without a needle. Quinto’s experiment was even worse than that.” Geralt finished and breathing heavily. Ciri’s shivering form grounded him a bit._

_“When the mutation reached my eyes…I couldn’t see anything for a while, soon my hearing is gone then my skins were deprived of all senses. It’s like you float in the dark void where even your own scream was deaf to you.” Ciri is on the verge of tears but makes no move to stop him._

_“Then I couldn’t breathe, feeling my inside liquefied and reformed again after the trial I recently passed. After I can feel my inside solid again my senses came back.” Geralt tells her with his fingers still lingered on the small of her back, creates a soothing pattern through the fabric._

_“Eskel told me later that I was screaming for hours since Quinto starts mutating me until he let me go after he satisfied with the result.” Geralt’s smile looked evil and his eyes lit up with glee and satisfaction when he says the next sentences “That whoreson died during the sacking, villagers quartered him on the courtyard of the keep while he screams all the time, or so Vesemir told me. A fitting end.” He finished._

_Silence stretch out between the two, Ciri finally let herself cry into his chest quietly, tightening her embrace around him as to give him some form of comfort and to say that she was there, with him._

_“So, no. Ciri. I don’t want you to live the life I had, I don’t want you to face the things I’ve faced, I would rather die than to subject you to the Trials even if it will somehow work for you.” He cooed her with a comforting steady voice and hold her tight, rocking her left and right softly on top of him and kissing her temple now and again._

_“I didn’t know, I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m sorry…” Ciri whimpered out while pressing her face deep into the crook of his neck, her gushes of tears soaked his skin but Geralt didn’t mind; he keeps stroking her hair softly._

_“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Cirilla, I’ve survived and I’m here now. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, you make me feel alive and gave me a purpose, my little star.” Geralt spoke sweetly to her, kissing the side of her temple again until finally, Ciri turns her lips to his and the two seals their bond._

_After the longest loving and passionate kiss either of them ever had, Ciri breaks the kiss to hold his gaze with hers and his face in her shaking hands._

_“I love you.” The girl whispered out to him, sees his irises widening as he deciphered her words, a happy smile tugging her lips as she goes in to claim his lips again._

_“ **Aé Minne Taedh**.” Geralt said in elder speech that made his voice sounds smoother._

_“Must you charm me in elder speech every time?” Ciri grinned back at him, she learned some with the sorceress aside from trying to help her control the power she possesses. Ciri kept her mouth on his as she climbs up to straddle him again._

_“Only for you, **Me minne**.” He said into her mouth as he felt the laces of his pants came loose._

_“Undress me.” Ciri commands him with such fire that threaten to swallow him whole, the witcher has no choice but to oblige._

_Ciri fumbles with his laces while Geralt nearly tore off her nightgown with adrenaline pumping through him right now._

_But as Ciri lifting her hips up and was about to take him in, the knocks on the door came._

_“Master Geralt! Jarl an Craite request your presence!” the voice of the steward calls for him._

_Geralt groans frustratingly as Ciri giggles wildly while setting herself down on the mattress. Geralt has to force his blood out of his erection, witchers can do that, and sitting himself up and rubbing his hands hard over his face._

_Ciri slipped into her nightgown and plant a kiss on his neck then his cheek as she prods him to get off the bed._

_“Crach might have important matters to seek you out this late. Go now before he came here himself.” Ciri chides him with her usual smirk at his frustration._

_And after he left the chamber in his witcher gear and silver hanging on his back, Crach an Craite took him on a week-long trip to hunt down packs of nekkers that infested Undvik._

.. .. ..

And now he’s sitting at the feast with Crach and Ciri was nowhere to be seen, when he asked the steward informed that Hjarlmar and Cerys herd the young princess off to an adventure with dozen of warrior up on the mountain and he finds that his steel sword was missing, assumed Ciri has taken it with her.

Now Geralt returned his attention to Crach and answers “I was thinking about taking her back to Kaer Morhen, after Yule if possible.” Geralt chugged down another mug of mead, heat rises up inside his stomach.

Crach did the same but with seemingly little effort, the man probably takes them instead of water anyway and sighs out “Dangerous time, these, but I suppose the Blue Mountains was far-away enough for her safety.” Crach said with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Geralt thought about it too; the secluded valley that the wolf school of witchers was located provides everything one needs to disappear. In spring the woods are full of monsters, wild animals and bandits. In winter the heavy snow and harsh blizzards surround the area, tracks and marks are easy to cover.

But one prospect nagging his mind; the trip back to the Continent. Traditionally every ship sail to and from the Continent are docked and accounted for in the Novigrad’s harbor, and with the bastard Leo Bonhart still alive and kicking…There’s no way he can smuggle Ciri out of the ship without the bounty hunter knowing.

... .. ..

_“You are annoying, I will give you that, White one.” Bonhart snarls from the reasonable distance he put between himself and the witcher, who in a span of ten seconds has butchered all of his men with no more than two strikes each._

_Geralt kept his glowing slit-eyes locked with the mercenary’s while he twisting his lodged sword out of the goon’s throat with the help of his foot, the fact that the bastard proudly showed the medallions he claimed from witchers that fell to his sword riled him up; one of the three belong to someone he knew, the young witcher he helped Vesemir trained and only been on the Path about 5 years ago, Coën._

_“The last doghouse freaks I killed was a bald, and pathetic. Well, at least he didn’t beg me to spare his life.” That alone made the witcher’s blood boiled with rage._

_“Let’s see how you fare, Butcher of Blaviken.” After that Bonhart ordered his goon to get him. And now there are only him and the whoreson left._

_Geralt calmly take out a ragged cloth and cleaning his steel while concentrating on his opponent’s movement; Bonhart circling him from a distance as soon as Geralt took down two of his men, realizing that Geralt was somehow harder to deal with than he had thought._

_A great fighter never rushes, Vesemir ingrained that in him and Eskel successfully with the exception of Lambert, seem the same philosophy is what kept the bounty hunter alive all this time too._

_“Nothing to say? You mute or something?” Bonhart whirls his sword in his hand, keeping his eyes on the witcher and gain more anticipation when finally, the witcher in front of him throw away the cleaning cloth._

_“Who sent you?” Geralt growl out with calm but laced with an angry tone, Geralt secretly absorbing the lingered life-forces of the corpses around him, one uncomfortable method for they left a nasty aftertaste in his mouth but was necessary, and gesturing the sign of Axii aimed at Bonhart “Speak.”_

_Bonhart has a clouded look over his eyes but soon breaks his own act and laughing maniacally at the witcher with ridicule looks directed at the white hair monster slayer “Magic doesn’t work on me, mutant freak!” and he showing the tattoo under his collarbone to the witcher._

_Sigils and symbols adorned the entire length of Bonhart’s collarbones, some form of warding as Geralt must guess._

_“Great.” Geralt grunts and changing his footing to the fighting stance he uses for werewolves. Bonhart also changes his stance as well._

_“But I have the letter on me, come get it if you can.” Bonhart snarls as he pounces toward the witcher._

_Geralt swings his blade forward to intercept the stab from Bonhart and follow up with bashing the blade with his pommel._

_Bonhart proved to be a seasoned swordsman when as soon as his blade been swatted by the witcher he channeling the momentum into twisting his body and swing his blade at Geralt again from backward._

_Geralt hyper reflexes allowed him to firmly thrust his sword diagnostically upward toward Bonhart’s blade and locking the deadly steel with his sword’s crossguard. Geralt maneuvered the locked swords by his superior strength and attempting to disarm the bounty hunter._

_But Bonhart twists the hidden latch inside his bottom-handle and it came loose as a hidden stiletto which the bounty hunter quickly jabbing towards the witcher’s eye. Geralt is forced to breaking the lock and evading the dangerous hidden weapon._

_Bonhart has wicked grin plastered on his face as he regains his composure while Geralt swipes a prickle of blood that seeps from the wound caused by Bonhart’s stiletto._

_“Don’t give me that look, at least I didn’t throw dirt at you.” Bonhart grin widens as he wiping the dirk cleanly with the front of his shirt and sheathing it back, making his sword looks like an oddly long handle one again._

_Geralt starting to feel strange numb spreading from the cut, poison. The witcher picked the vial of Golden Oriel from his belt and sip it. The sensation disappeared._

_“Shame that cut didn’t make it to your aorta, might be quicker and more merciful than what you will get from my blade.” Bonhart balancing his narrow steel into a stance of Rapier fencer, pointing the tip directly at the witcher’s eyesight._

_Geralt shifted his steel into the reverse grip on his left hand and fisted his right with the silver knuckles he reserved for specific species. Gripping and close-quarter combat is more effective than his usual dance against such art._

_Bonhart’s rapier stance strikes swiftly and accurately, but Vesemir taught him so much better than to lose against them. Geralt grab any thrusts and countered mainly with his sword’s pommel at any weak points in the bounty hunter’s guard he can find in swift and forceful blows. Bonhart staggered backward as Geralt landed a hit into his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of his lungs._

_As Geralt about to shift his sword back into the usual grip on his right hand a flash of light explodes between him and Bonhart. Without a chance to let his adaptive eyesight to adjust the witcher was blinded temporarily._

_Which is plenty of time for the accomplice to helped Bonhart escapes._

.. .. ..

“Maybe you can arrange some ship to sail for the shoreline near the Blue Mountains for us.” Geralt offers.

“I must try, Wolf. But truth be told, those oceans are dangerous even most of Skelligan don’t dare to cross.” Crach said with concerned sighs.

“Thanks, Crach.” Geralt pats his friend on the back and they downed another mugful of meads as the music starts to gain more jingles around them.

…

Ciri pacing nervously and full with anticipation on the bridge in front of Kaer Trolde, waiting for the scheduled arrival of a certain someone. Suddenly the air in front of her twists and contorts, time and space have been stretching and warping to produce a portal.

“Lady Yennefer!” Ciri exclaims with joy as soon as the sorceress steps out alongside a stunning blonde dressed in dark emerald and friendly presence.

“My duckling.” Yennefer said with such fondness she usually reserves for when they were away from stranger’s eyes. The two embraces each other tightly with Ciri pressed her face comfortably into the sorceress’s breasts out of happiness, Yennefer let out short chuckles as she ruffles the hair of the younger girl.

“Cirilla, this is my friend Margarita. Rita, this is Cirilla that I was talking about.” Yennefer introduces the two.

Margarita took her hands with earnest and manners that do not indicate the blonde as anything resembling sorceress, aside from similar inhuman beauty she was the polar opposite of Yennefer in many regards.

“Glad to finally meet you, Cirilla. Yenna couldn’t stop talking about you.” The blonde’s smile was so warm Ciri has to avert her eyes a bit as slight blushes crept up on her face.

“Thank you, Lady Margarita.” Ciri said out, her voice sounds strangely tiny to Yennefer’s ears but in an endearing way.

Yennefer averted her eyes from the two and scanning the area looking for someone, Ciri caught the sorceress searching gazes and interrupting Yennefer’s action “Geralt are on the other side of the Isle, some contracts as usual.” She told the sorceress and wondered to herself; it’s strange that as crystal clear how things are between herself and the witcher she couldn’t find it in her heart to feels threaten by Yennefer’s obvious soft spot for her witcher.

She somehow glad and welcome it, the real reasons behind that never manifested themselves in her brains but she doesn’t give a shit anyway.

“Typical, for him to leave you here all by yourself.” Yennefer bites laces no venom, only amusements and fonds Ciri could pick out.

Cirilla beam at the sorceress as she walked in to hook the now same-height woman by the elbow as she guided them towards the gate of Kaer Trolde.

“How are things anyway?” Ciri asks the elder woman as they passed the threshold.

“Same old politics, dull as ever.” Yennefer deadpanned with exaggerate waving of her gloved hands. Margarita has a look of ridiculed on her face.

“You call being nominated for the seat on the Chapter dull? Sometimes I wondered what’s wrong inside your head Yenna.” The blonde quips with playful manners, Yennefer just roll her eyes upward and snorts.

“Spoken by someone who ditched any political offers to drowned herself amongst girls at Aretuza.” Yennefer shot back with the same amount of sass she received, dear friends, Ciri thought.

“Tissaia needs a break from time to time, I was merely filling in the spot she reserved for you.” Margarita muses.

“You have my eternal gratitude then, Margarita Laux-Antille, to save me from that hellish existent.” Yennefer exaggerated dramatically as she slightly bowed towards her friend.

Rita snickers softly as she returned the gesture and added: “Don’t be so quick to thank me yet, Yenna, I still discussing with our dear old hag which major we would assign your talent to as a new professor.”

“Like hell.” Yennefer grumbles out.

“Well, as a future member of the group that heeds the direct order from the High Council, which Tissaia is a member of, you might not have much of a choice.” Rita said calmly and with amusement as to how every word spoken seems to rile up her raven-haired friend more and more, judging from how her violet orbs glowing slightly brighter.

“They shan’t herd me as if I’m some sheep, Rita.” Yennefer growls out. Margarita only gives out a knowing look.

“And you will fight tooth and nail with them, I am certain, Yenna. In fact please do, I have a betting game with Phil on that.” Rita whispers to her.

Yennefer snorts again but giving no quips nor retorts, simply letting Ciri leading them toward the training corridor unaware of the conversation between the two since the mention of Tissaia as the sorceresses communed via telepathy.

…

“Impressive.” Rita whispers out under her breath when Ciri finished the demonstration ordered by Yennefer.

The power that the girl possesses is astounding, the amount of Chaos coursing through the area had filled her with strange sensations akin to whenever Tissaia and her pay a visit to Tor Lara.

The greenish aura that enveloped the girl dissipates after Yennefer tells her that the test was a success.

“Well done, Ciri, you gain some control and balance. Keep training what I taught you and I shall come to you as soon as I learn anything new related to them.” Yennefer said to her softly with pride swelling in both her and Ciri.

Yennefer then caught a faint scar on her chin and inspecting it, turning the girl’s head left and right to find many more adorned her once-delicate skin.

“That witcher left these on you?” the chill emanates from Yennefer shivers Ciri, but she places a reassuring touch on the sorceress caring hands.

“It’s just sparring scars, he would never hurt me, not intentionally anyway.” Ciri chimed out in cheerful and nonchalant manners, hoping to dissipate any dark thoughts Yennefer might hold against Geralt.

Yennefer still holding her intense gazes into Ciri’s eyes, after a moment the sorceress dropped it with a resigned pout.

“It never occurred to me why you want to be like him, you could do more with magic than dance around with steel in your hands.” Yennefer has her hands on her hips, cocking it one side. Scolding Ciri playfully.

“It was more fun.” Ciri said with glee and after that added with a more mischievous one “And the reward after them are somewhat worth it.” And she winked at the sorceress.

Yennefer has a looked of shock on her face and place one hand over her heart, gasping loudly like they were in some comedic play while chiding her “My, my, Cirilla. Did I rubbed off on you too much?”

“You were the best!” Ciri beaming up at the sorceress.

…

Around midnight Ciri stirs awake on the mattress that now seems too vast without the warm body of Geralt alongside her.

Faint footsteps echoing the long corridor led to their chamber sounds staggering and uneven, the wet sound of liquid falling on the stone floor makes her unease.

The door starts frozen in layers of ice, the heat in the room slowly dissipates as the cold seeps in form every crack.

The door swung open, revealing a bloodied and half-rotten white wolf balancing itself on the limbs it has left, making its way to her agonizingly slow as if it wants her to remember every horror on it.

Shards of ice sticking out from various spots on its body, the largest one penetrated its chest all the way out of the center of its back, frozen blood hanged around the deathly shards.

But there’s one thing see slowly recognizes as the wolf staggering closer and closer, the chilled moonlight reveals every little detail to her, including the eyes of the canine.

Amber-ish gold that is so full of warmth whenever they laid on her.

The eyes of Geralt.

She screams.

And awake.

…

Ciri was frustrated.

Not the fact that she was about to leave Ard Skellige and go back to the Continent.

It’s the fact that Geralt, whose she never saw again after she came back from the trip on the mountain, decided to let Yennefer portal her to the Wolf’s keep all alone and he will be followed up by traditional means.

For her own safety, as always.

And the idiot is also great at left before dawn on the first ship sails to Novigrad without even a goodbye to her in person.

Yennefer held her hands and squeezes reassuring, somehow Ciri suspects the sorceress once experienced the same scenario as herself.

“ _It was all for your safety, Cirilla_.” Crach told her as she throwing hands and stomping around as soon as she heard the news this morning.

“He’s always like this, think he knows best and doesn’t even consider how I feel!” Ciri gritted out as she fuming aside Yennefer on the balcony of her suite.

“He’s an idiot.” Yennefer offers with a quirking eyebrow.

“Yeah! Biggest dunk-heap idiot!” Ciri shout out into the breezes.

Yennefer’s hand is on her head, stroking her ashen mane softly as to console Ciri’s emotions. Then she said, “And yet, you still love him.” Yennefer offers her a small smile.

Ciri doesn’t say anything, just lowered her head into her palms and exhales heavily.

“Take it from me, Cirilla. As I see it he loves you more than anything and willing to walk through fire just to keep you safe.” Yennefer tones are somewhat nostalgic, like she craves for something she could not have anymore and adds “Geralt will defy all laws and orders in a heartbeat for those he holds dear, that’s one of many reasons why I fell for him all those years ago. Angry at him all you want, my duckling, but do not hate him for what he did to protect you. Being away from you hurt him as much as you felt.” Yennefer wiping streaks of tears from Ciri’s face, the girl leans into the sorceress’ touch.

“I will still give him hell when I see him again, though.” Ciri croaks out to her and Yennefer can’t help but smile.

“That I support you, my dear ugly one.” Yennefer kiss the top of Ciri’s head with maternal touches that the girl craves for since her mother died; Calanthe was many things, but loving like this was hard even for the Lioness herself.

“Thanks, mama.” Ciri whispers softly to Yennefer as she pressed her face into the crook of the sorceress’ neck.

Yennefer’s posture stiffens a bit but eventually relaxing into a warm touch as she hold the girl tightly. Her words sounded weak and shaken to her own ears but she doesn’t care “Anything for you, my daughter.”

…

As soon as Ciri stepped out of the portal, she was stunned by the scenery in front of her.

Tall and intimidating structure of the ruined fort carved into the face of a mountain, even bigger and looks ancient than the royal keep of Cintra.

She walked slowly along the courtyard, taking in her surroundings and felt a sense of familiarity engulfed her whole being.

This is the Wolf school of Witchers.

The keep that produces numbers of Geralt’s brethren once via horrifying trials and cruel mutations.

Kaer Morhen.

The home of her witcher.

A place that holds so many memories of him.

A place she might get to know him better.

“Hey! The fuck are you doing here, girly?” the voices ask her from behind, Ciri spun quickly to the direction and sees the owner of that nerve-grating voice.

Short dark hair, dressed in leather and silver studs she associated with Geralt’s witcher gear, the snarling wolf head medallion hanged from his neck, and the eyes similar to Geralt’s without no warmth or familiar longing she gets from the white-haired witcher.

The witcher approaches her with his steel sheathed over his shoulder, similar to Geralt’s style. This one looks and gave off the presence of younger and more reckless than what she felt around Geralt.

“I ask you a question, gray hair, did your mother not teach you anything?” Now that’s irritating.

“Razor for a tongue and a pain in the ass.” Ciri recites out of her memory from back when Geralt told her about his brothers.

“What the fuck that supposed to mean?” the witcher crossed his arms over his chest.

“You must be Lambert.” Ciri pointed out.

Now Lambert was curious so he takes a good look at the uninvited guest; ashen-hair with emerald green eyes, a posture of an athlete with graces of a dancer, the way she swayed in place resembles the pretty boy and that sword with certain brooch hanging behind her shoulder was unmistaken.

Lambert quickly draws his steel and pounce on her, intent to hold the sword at her throat before interrogating but he was surprised when the girl draws Geralt’s steel as fast as lightning and collides the blade with his in a tactful stance; one he remembered taught by Vesemir.

Before any of them could do anything else, the older witcher walked in and with graceful movement disarmed both of them immediately.

“What the hell happened here? And who are you, child?” his authority seeps into his voices as he demands answers.

Ciri looked at him; grayish hairs tied behind his head in a similar fashion as Geralt, his facial hair stylized neatly to accents his intimidation of an elder, his witcher’s armor appeared more worn and fancy than other ones she had seen.

This must be Vesemir, Geralt’s and the wolf school witchers’ swordsmaster.

“This one has Geralt’s sword, I was about to interrogate her but you nailed that chance, Oldman.” Lambert growls out as he retracts his wrist from Vesemir’s vise grip.

“But you could just ask her before start cutting her down, you punk!” Vesemir lectures float above his head as always.

“Whatever. How did you get that sword?” he returned his gaze to her as Ciri rubbing her wrist.

“Vesemir’s right, you should ask me first instead of try to slit my throat, you donkey ass.” Ciri grunts at Lambert and Vesemir have to intervene again when the two about to starts a fistfight.

“Now, now. Let’s not act like a child you two clearly still are.” Vesemir calm voices soothed her but Lambert still staring dagger at her.

“I didn’t steal or killed him for it if you still wondering about those.” Ciri directed her quip at Lambert and then changes her tone as she facing Vesemir “Not sure if he ever mentioned me to any of you here, my name’s Cirilla, Geralt’s surprise.” She bows to the eldest witcher and purses her lips then shrugging her shoulder at Lambert.

The look of realization falls on both of them and Vesemir laughs out loud then patting her shoulder firmly.

“I remember now, Geralt told us about you some winters ago.” Vesemir said in usual calmness of his while Lambert relaxed his posture.

“And a couple of days ago a raven brought a message, says that we should be expecting you.” Lambert slowly approaches her, Ciri still held him with cautious eyes. The youngest witcher shot a hand towards her “Nice to finally meet you, puke. And sorry for earlier.” He said with wide smug.

Ciri bewildered by her nickname and make a disapproving sound.

“I remembered that the first time he tells us about you, we joked that it is the puke of your mom that supposed to be his reward, so you are puke now.” Lambert still has wide smug adorned his face.

Ciri flips him a bird.

Lambert laughs out loud and walked away.

“Sorry about that, Cirilla, he’s such a prick sometimes.” Vesemir apologized to her as he handed her back the sword of Geralt then leading her toward the inner courtyard.

“As I recall his heroic tales from Geralt, he’s basically like that all the time.” Ciri snorts out.

Vesemir gives healthy laughs at her snippiness. “Come on, little wolf, let’s get you settled.”

Ciri breathed in the air around the keep, she might get used to it as it would be a while.

The big wooden gates opened and she passed the threshold, readying herself for what the future might bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that for Bound everyone!  
> Happy New Year 2020 and may this year be your best yet.  
> I'll be back with the second installment of Silver Thread soon.  
> Enjoy and Thank you.
> 
> DM.


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